Secrets: The 99th Hunger Games
by Tig379
Summary: What if Katniss Everdeen had never been born? Would the Games have gone on? Welcome to the 99th Hunger Games. 24 tributes. 1 arena. A fight to the death, with many secrets along the way.
1. Intro

**Secrets**

**The 99****th**** Hunger Games**

What if Katniss Everdeen had never been born? Would the Games have gone on? Welcome to the 99th Hunger Games. 24 tributes. 1 arena. A fight to the death, with many secrets along the way.

**~~The Tributes~~**

**District 1, Luxury Items**

_Girl: _Crimson Ashbrie (Ashbrie13)

_Boy: _Kingsley "King" Johannsen (lifelovelaughmarie)

**District 2, Masonry**

_Girl: _Ashtra Dechare (Ashbrie13)

_Boy: _Alquando "Quan" Trenna (shimmergirl109)

**District 3, Technology**

_Girl: _Mykal Duncan (shimmergirl109)

_Boy: _Keldon Peak (shimmergirl109)

**District 4, Fishing**

_Girl: _Nadia Aaryn (luvfredweasley1111)

_Boy: _Everett Heathcliffe (JustAGryffinDork)

**District 5, Power**

_Girl: _Meira Griss (ImpalaAngel13)

_Boy: _Ajay Nevelen (Me)

**District 6, Transportation**

_Girl: _Jade Cox (XxxxpaperheartsxxxX)

_Boy: _Sleighter Texlin (UpDownLeftRight)

**District 7, Lumber**

_Girl: _Zimozielony "Z" Drewno (Rainfire of Riverclan)

_Boy: _Forrest Asher (The Smart One 64)

**District 8, Fabric**

_Girl: _Annabelle Crest (lifelovelaughmarie)

_Boy: _Flint Mandrake (Me)

**District 9, Grain**

_Girl: _Kira Howren (lifelovelaughmarie)

_Boy: _Collita "Col" Gra (Rainfire of Riverclan)

**District 10, Livestock**

_Girl: _Azalea Mine (Two-Bit's Girl14)

_Boy: _Jaryn Mine (Two-Bit's Girl14)

**District 11, Agriculture**

_Girl: _Karina Towhee (Osprey17)

_Boy: _Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale (The Smart One 64)

**District 12, Coal Mining**

_Girl: _Em Kingston (EverlastingActress)

_Boy: _Rymet Flightmaple (Osprey17)


	2. District One Reaping

**District 1 Reaping**

**_Crimson Ashbrie, 18_**

Ugh, I've been waiting for reaping day forever.

Life is just so boring. It's just like, eating, sleeping, cut some gems, clean the shop, buy food, train...oh, and go to school (which is the worst out of the few).

I've trained three to four hours a day since I was little for the Games... and I'm not going to sit around waiting to be reaped for them, like every other wuss in our district, and the others.

This is the last possible year, and I have trained to the fullest of my potential. I am no little kid any more. I am gonna win these Games, and I'll be so rich they won't know what to do with me.

Dunno about my talent... maybe writing morbid death poetry.

"Crimson! Reaping! In the square, _now_!" Father calls from the back room.

I finish sweeping the spotless floors of the jewelry shop. "Fine! Coming!"

I rush up the stairs to our nice living quarters above the shop, and put on my black reaping dress. I love black. The dress glitters a bit, because of the expensive bits of crystal sewn into the fabric. We're rich enough to afford such luxuries.

I head back down, and try not to run excitedly to the square.

I need adrenaline... and I think the Games offer more than enough of that. We all gather, dressed in our finery, some wimps sweating furiously among us.

It's a pain to stand in the long lines to sign into the reaping, but eventually I stand dutifully in the eighteen year olds section, trying hard to keep the evil grin off my face. The odds are so not in anyone else's favor. I will make my family and the rest of District One rich.

The mayor launches into his ever-boring speech about the Dark Days, and why we owe the Capitol, etc. He pauses briefly, and then the escort, Feia Cord, calls some random kid's name.

Before they can even cry, I volunteered.

"Now that's the spirit of the Games!" Feia says gleefully.

But she's evidently afraid of me, because when I come up to stand behind her, she scoots away a bit.

Now I let the grin bleed through, letting the rest of the country know that they are in some serious trouble now.

**_Kingsley "King" Johannsen, 18_**

I yawn luxuriously, stretching my muscular arms above my head. The small digital clock by my nightstand reads noon. Without warning, I find myself on the floor. I assume I fell off, but the only thing I can feel is all of the air rush out of my lungs.

My body apparently knows something that my mind does not.

But when I figure it out, I find my body relaxing. I really want to slap myself. _Oh, duh!_ The voice in my head says, _it's _reaping _day!_

I laugh it off and get dressed. It's the day I've been training for forever, I don't need to get nervous like that!

But something does prick inside of me. Sure, my dad's a huge and famous victor, and I've been throwing spears since I could stand on my two legs, but maybe I don't _want_ to be in the Games!

But my mom's voice echoes through all of my thoughts in a piercing manner. _You don't _know_ what you want, Kingsley! _

Even with my thoughts, my nose wrinkles in disdain at my old-fashioned name. It sounds like a street name.

As I brush my teeth and think self-absorbed thoughts concerning the Games, my little sister Bridget walks into the room, as silently as always. Even I have to admit, she's cute. Blond hair in two pigtails, bright blue eyes, a chubby, round face, and a cheerful disposition.

"Hey Bridget!" I say to her.

She gives me a toothy grin, but it falters for a moment. "Today's reaping day, isn't it, King?"

I try not to look nervous. My parents and I, however disconnected we are, have a silent pledge to try to have me win the Games, and have Bridget stay completely and totally out of them.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"Will you play the Games?" she asks innocently.

I sigh. But in order to keep Bridget out of it, I have to win our family's pride by volunteering myself for the Hunger Games. The annual fight to the death on live TV for the Capitol's enjoyment.

"Yeah, Bridget. I'm gonna play the Games."

"Are they gonna be fun?"

"Yeah. Fun."

I take her hand and we head downstairs. We have a great but brief lunch, a thick carrot soup with bread and crackers, warm brown coffee, a rich sandwich. But no matter how much food I eat, it doesn't help the unsettling and hollow feeling in my stomach.

Bridget goes to the bathroom, and my parents come down on me.

"You know the deal, right?" says Mom, voice tight with excitement.

"Mom, you've been training me for years," I say, trying to add excitement to my voice too, with failed attempts. "Of course I know."

Dad looks at me, with hardly any sympathy. "You'll be in your mentors hands soon enough, but remember. When you get there, be the smart Career, son. Make yourself look a step ahead of the Games than the others. Be out there. And join the Careers later, once they've gotten all their supplies. No bloodbath." He says sternly. "If they don't trust you, find a way to outsmart them. Even so, try to stay on good terms with them. Make alliances during training."

I nod.

Bridget comes back out, and without another word of the Games I was going to play, we head out to the square and sign in.

Bridget gives me a lingering look as I turn away from her and head to my section. As innocent as she is, she's smart. She knows more than we give her credit for.

"Let's begin with the ladies!" says Feia Cord, our escort, gleefully. "Ceila Virwood!"

"I volunteer!" a monstrous and muscular girl in a black dress lunges forward. She has a long, dark brown braid and fierce amber eyes. I try hard not to get scared of her.

The sniffling twelve year old gets down from the stage, and the girl, Crimson Ashbrie, as she says in a deep voice, takes her place.

"Now for the boys!"

As Crimson did, without any consideration of the name called, I lunge forward, trying to summon her fire.

I go up and stand beside her, hoping my strong limbs don't shake. Instead, I incline my head regally as District One cheers for their tributes. And their new victor.


	3. District Two Reaping

**District 2 Reaping**

**_Ashtra Dechare, 17_**

I yawn lazily, finally telling myself to get out of bed. I pull on the elegant silver reaping dress Mom left for me, excited for the upcoming events.

It's all I can do not to race out of the square, but I know I need to do some things before I leave, and plus, I'm seventeen-I'm much more mature than that.

I wake up my little sister, Rose, and make her put on her clothes will I stand in front of the mirror for a while. If I get reaped (which I hope I will), I want to look my best.

Not that I'm usually girly... but the Hunger Games only comes around once a year, and I've got one more year to make my move.

Not that I'm planning to volunteer-I'm not much of one to be eager to drink the blood of other children in the arena, but it is quite an honor to be reaped. And if I do get reaped, I hope nobody volunteers to take my rightful place.

Plus, anyone who does volunteer makes them look so bloodthirsty that they're insecure and stupid. I've been training and studying for the Games for years, so I would play it right.

I take a long time brushing my teeth, and scrape the dark red hair out of my face the best I can. My jet black streak of dye is beginning to fade, but I don't fuss over it too much.

"Come on Rose!" I snap.

She obediently comes down the stairs, and to my surprise takes my hand.

I don't pull it away.

I say bye to her before we go off into our sections, after we've signed in, and for some reason I give her a hug. "Happy Hunger Games," I whisper into her dark hair.

I stand impatiently while the mayor, Marvolus something-or-other finishes his very long speech (Part One) of the Dark Days.

Finally, Titania, the escort (who's been our escort for the past fourteen years) is still looking as prim and happy as ever in her eye-piercing shade of purple nail polish. Her blue cheek tattoos reflect the light from the spotlights, and her especially long lashes blink rapidly, as usual. They cast off fragments of light that are blinding.

"Happy Hunger Games everyone!" she says, brimming with pride at her district that has brought home victors for the past three Games now. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

This is it. She reaches her long purple nails into the enormous girl's reaping bowl.

I clench my fists with excitement, blood pulsing loudly through my ears. But some thought pricks at the back of my mind impatiently. I ignore it the best I can, and wait for her to read the name.

"Rose Dechare!" she announces brightly.

My stomach turns to pure solid ice. My gut instinct is working a lot better than it should. This was the foreboding feeling I have had all day...

My little sister is biting her lip, as she usually does when she's about to cry, and slowly but determinedly makes her way up to the podium.

For a moment, all thoughts of the Hunger Games being a rite of passage and an honor zip out of my mind. My little sister is going to die in a ring full of captured playthings of the Capitol. She's breakfast for some of them.

When I find myself back in the regular world, I realize that the many thousand people of Two gathered in the square are staring at me.

"Well come on then!" says Titania good naturedly.

I realize then that I just did something.

I just volunteered for my little sister.

I was going into the arena.

**_Alquando "Quan" Trenna, 16_**

My eyes flit open instantly. I know I've awoken too late immediately. Yellow sunshine floods through the once-beautiful velvet curtains.

I check the digital clock to my side, appalled to find it already noon. I suppose it took me a while to fall asleep last night, as I was awake most of the night reflecting on my decision about the Games.

I get up quietly, the rich bed silent as I got off it. My brother is still asleep in the corner. His brown hair is messed up, narrow eyes closed, and even the scowl wiped off his pale face. He almost looks nice in his sleep, but don't let that fool you. He's a jerk. We've both trained for the Games every day, but he was so competitive and mean. But he's fourteen—he's at least smart enough to know it's stupid to volunteer right now when he'll just get stronger and stronger.

But I am strong enough already.

I go to the kitchen, passing my father's room. I hear his loud snores, confirming he probably knocked himself out with drink last night, and won't be waking soon. I grab some grapes and eat them while pacing.

"What're you up to?" a slow, rhythmic voice comes from behind me.

I whirl around, ready to snarl at my father, but instead find myself looking down at my smiling, wrinkled grandmother.

My muscles relax. "Hey, Nana. Didn't know you were up." I say, scratching my neck, embarrassed.

She laughs. "It's fine, Quan." Her face turns serious, as she studies my eyes.

"It's fine, Nana. Just nervous for the reaping, that's all." _As if I would ever get nervous. _She shrugs.

"Alright then, if that's all it is." She doesn't sound convinced.

A few moments later, my brother, Alec, enters. "Wassup, Quannie?" he asks smugly, smacking me on the shoulder as always.

But today his fist just bounces off the sheer muscle that I've been preparing since I made my decision.

He grabs a fistful of crackers and stuffs them in his mouth. After a long pause he says (through a mouthful of food), "Anybody else planning to go the reaping?"

We all make our way to the square quickly.

Nobody mentions Father, still passed out in his bed. Nobody says it, but we all pray for the Peacekeepers to find him and shoot him for not coming to the reapings. It breaks Nana's heart to see her son as crazy as he is, but at this point, her heart has hardened, as have the rest of ours.

We sign in, and I nod farewell to Alec. He just snorts.

I turn to go to my section, but Nana stops me.

"What?" I mumble, not in the mood for an old-person lecture.

"Quan," her voice steady and even, like when she means business. "Don't."

"Don't do what, Nana?" I say, already turning away.

"Just don't." her voice cracks.

I turn back, sighing. If there's one person on earth I actually care about, it's Nana. "I'll be fine," I say quietly, and go.

"Ladies first!" Titania declares. "Happy Hunger Games, may the odds be ever in your favor!"

A brief pause follows. You could hear a pin drop in the city square right now. But all we hear is our cheery escort clawing through the endless sea of names.

"Rose Dechare!" she finally yodels.

A small dark-haired girl—13 at the most—walks up to the podium, trying hard not to let tears spill over.

"WAIT!" a girl screams from the section in front of me. A muscular girl with dark red hair steps forward. "I volunteer!"

For a moment, we all expect her to be one of those bloodthirsty volunteers, but the desperation in her voice says otherwise.

"Well come on then!" says Titania cheerfully.

Rose walks down, tears finally flooding her face as the girl takes the stage.

"What's your name, then?"

"Ashtra Dechare." Her voice is rough and dangerous. But I barely blink. I am so much taller, and if it came to it, I'm nearly certain I could beat her.

"Well, now for the boys!" she says, hopping over to the other glass orb.

"Corbin Timber!" a muscular boy begins to stride to the stage proudly.

I find myself nearly snorting at him. All bark, no bite.

"I volunteer!" I lunge forward, a scowl on my face.

As I make my way up to the podium, I see Alec, a look of pure shock on his face. Corbin Timber exits the stage, glaring at me, but then looking sad and saying, "Aw, shucks." Wow, he's dim.

I go and stand by Ashtra. Our eyes find each other. We nod, briefly. We're allies for now.

I find blood rushing through my veins, determination written all over my face. Nothing can distract me. But then I see Nana's grief stricken face in the crowd. But more than that, I see disappointment.

But I make her a promise. _We'll meet again, _I vow silently. _Somewhere in heaven, away from my father.__  
_


	4. District Three Reaping

**District 3 Reaping**

_**Mykal Duncan, 14**_

Beneath my eyelids, I sense the tiniest fragment of dawn shining through the rough curtains. My eyes flit open at once. Not to be boastful, but I have some pretty good reflexes. For a moment, I try to stay quiet, enjoying some peace before the stresses of reaping day set in. Caroline is curled up like a small animal next to my mother, blond hair flowing around her. She has the ashen skin like the rest of the family, and all of the rest of District Three, but still is out of place with her long, glowing locks.

My brother Caden even sleeps with a scowl, on his small cot in the other corner of the room. He looks more typical for District Three, with the trademark black hair and smallish brown eyes.

I hesitate for a moment, thinking about my family. Caroline's 12, and is now eligible for the reaping. I tried not to let her take any tesserae—but we can't afford to feed three growing people and a mom who works all the time with our little money. I think of her four names in the reaping bowl. When she's my age, she'll have twelve entries. But her odds are in better favor than mine, since my name is in that bowl eighteen times. Caden's name is in there thirty-six times.

I decide there's no point to waste good working hours, so I yawn loudly and stretch, throwing off my rough canvas blanket, effectively waking the rest of my family, as the room is small and a sneeze could wake them.

Caden gets out of bed in no time at all, as usual, dresses, and is off to find work before we can say anything to stop him.

No matter what day it is—even reaping day—he's not going to stop working for us for one moment.

Mom doesn't say anything and comes and gives me a hug. Even after three years, reaping day never gets any easier.

I kiss Caroline on the forehead, and scavenge through the empty cabinets, and find some stale bread, which we nibble on rapidly.

I search in the pile of clothes we have in the fourth corner of the room, and help the rest of the family get ready for the reaping.

Caden's back in a few hours, and we count the money, and I take some and get some nuts and greens from one of the tiny storefronts. I end up a few dollars short, but the woman lets me off the hook, and even sneaks me a little extra.

Everyone's more sympathetic on reaping day.

Before I know it, the food's gone and we head out to the square to sign in.

"Good luck, My." Says Caroline softly.

I hug her, and hug Caden. He looks uncomfortable, but he doesn't push away. He really isn't the hugging type.

I stand in the fourteen year old section, twiddling my thumbs anxiously. A part of me wonders if they make the mayor have this speech on purpose, making us wait nervously in the large sea of faces.

Finally, the escort, Purnia Doon literally shrieks, "GIRLS FIRST!"

I try to find the best in most people, but honestly, there is nothing to like about Purnia.

She reaches an inhumanly long finger into the girl's reaping orb. You can hear half of District Three holds their breaths until she yodels, "Mykal Duncan!"

It all happens so fast. My knees begin to give way in the beginning, but then I feel Caden by my side, hoisting me up, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Before the Peacekeepers can get to him, he hugs me. I try really hard not to lose it when he does, knowing the cameras see everything that happens here.

I am half guided by the crowd, half limping up to the stage, trying so hard not to shake that I nearly run into Purnia.

She hardly takes notice, because she's sooo excited! She hops over to the boy's orb, squeaking with delight as she reads the name.

"Keldon Peak!"

Oh, no. No, anyone else. There are thousands of slips… why, why Keldon Peak? I try not to let any recognition slide across my face, but it's too late. A small sound comes from my throat, like a dying animal.

But Keldon Peak is a lot better at this than I am, his eyes slide over me so easily. But I know what he's thinking, what I'm thinking.

This is going to be a very interesting Games.

_**Keldon Peak, 14**_

I yawn, wiggling my legs and stretching my muscles until they relent their stiffness enough to get out of bed.

I stare back longingly at the warm cocoon of blankets, willing hard for the pleasant hazy feeling of sleep to stay with me.

Of course it doesn't, especially when I see my little sister Caylah across the room. She still sleeps soundly, night-black hair curled around her fair face, a little spray of brown freckles dancing around her nose.

I smile a bit, but remember where I am, and what day it is.

Judging by the clock (made by my father in his clock shop), it's nearly 10. Only a few hours to prepare for the horror that's coming.

"Keldon!" Mom calls from down the hall. "Breakfast!"

I catch a sideways glimpse of Caylah opening one eye lazily, pulling the pillow over her head, and trying to sleep again.

I eat slices of toast with butter, and then go change into reaping clothes. Caylah tries to cheer me up, but we both know it's no use. Sure, Caylah's name is entered only once in that reaping orb, but the possibility of either of us going to the Games is terrifying.

I hold her hand the entire way out to the square. Mom and Dad join us, and we just stop in the middle of the road, staring ahead, like we always do.

This is how it happened the first time—two years ago. When my brother Quentin was reaped for the Games. When all we could do was huddle around the TV, praying he'd survive. No suck luck, of course, and he died in the 97th Hunger Games.

We sign in quickly, hoping this whole thing would go by quickly, and we can go celebrate in the square tonight, putting our past with the Games behind us, being glad that me and my sister were spared another year.

But no such luck, naturally. The mayor drags on and on with his speech, and even Purnia looks like she needs to take a trip to the restroom.

Literally a millisecond after he finishes, she leaps up to the mike and says loudly, "Girls first!"

She delicately reaches inside the reaping orb for the girls, and all I can think about is Caylah's slip of paper in that bowl. The thought consumes me, and I find myself trying not to shake.

"Mykal Duncan!"

The name is foreign to me, luckily, but something is needling me in the back of my mind.

It screams and pounds on my skull as the girl shakily takes the stage. She is tall, probably in my year of school. She has the classic District Three ashen skin, and her straight auburn hair stands out a bit. But it's those dark brown eyes—scared yes, but not in a wimpy way, in an innocent way—that shake me. Deep eyes that usually are filled with light, but now stare down their opponents. Right now, Mykal Duncan is wearing the same expression she did four years ago, in that dark ally…

I wonder if she remembers that day, when I stood up for her against those bullies. Or maybe if she notices the sideways glances I give her in the school halls. But in the enormous crowd, she can't see my face. Not yet, anyways.

"Now for the boys!"

District Three squirms uncomfortably, muscles tightening, jaws clenched in anticipation.

"Keldon Peak!"

My stomach sinks. I have avoided the horrible poverty of the districts for most of my life, I've never been beaten the way Mykal has, but the Games have injured me so much. They have taken my brother away from me, and now they will take me too.

I walk up to the stage stiffly. Nobody says a word. They think I deserve this, I bet. They can see I am well fed. But my unusual short brown hair and amber-brown eyes marks me as the brother of Quinten, a fallen tribute.

I can hear the crowd's recognition, the response from the cameras. I try hard not to reach Mykal's gaze, but I see her eyes pass over me, and I know they can see me as the boy from four years ago. I find myself locating the scar on her knee. I wished I could have gotten there sooner.

"Your tributes of District Three!" says Purnia gleefully.

She nearly wrenches my shoulder as she grabs Mykal and my hands and holds them to the sky.

I send silent regrets to my family, and can only hope my death will be quick and easy. It's one thing for a family to have one tribute die in those horrible Games.

But I don't think a family could survive to make it two.


	5. District Four Reaping

**District 4 Reaping**

**_Nadia Aaryn, 15_**

"Nadia!" a voice calls me from down the hall.

"Yeah, Mom? I'm kind of concentrating!' I say irritably.

I try to focus and balance the knife in my hand as I gut and skin the fish. I'm still a mediocre gutter, I usually end up leaving a few extra gashes in the body.

"Nadia!" she calls again. "Get changed!"

"Why?" I call back, anger rising.

I hear her sigh. "Reaping day?" she says, as though asking 'Does it ring a bell?'

Oh. Right.

I finish my fish and put it in the tub with the other carcasses and ice. I go upstairs and change into my plain blue reaping dress. Mom sewed it for me just last year, so I still feel so rich and clean in it. And compared to some of the others in Four, we are quite rich. The store offers good business, and we have lots of helping hands in the house, now that I'm old enough to pitch in. Although, the fishing part itself came to me easily, since I was spearing fish in tidepools with a trident as soon as I could walk.

Mom and Dad wait for me and hand me some bread, which I nibble on nervously as we head to the square. The podium as usual is positioned in front of the giant statue of the elegant man holding a trident. They say it's an ancient god called Neptune.

We sign in quickly, going in the sort of "express" lane that has developed for the wealthier members of our district a few years ago, and I kiss my parents goodbye. I go and stand in the fifteen year old section, anticipating the worst.

The mayor launches into his speech, and I've long since stopped trying to listen. The cheery Capitol attendant, the escort named Petunia Frost, reaches into the girls reaping bowl, dutifully reminding us to have a "happy Hunger Games!" and pulls out a small card with one of our names written on it.

I clench my fists at my sides, and practice breathing deeply.

"Nadia Aaryn!"

Oh no, the odds are not in my favor today.

**_Everett Heathcliffe, 15_**

I open one eye and stare at the ceiling lazily. Even my dreams reminded me that today was Reaping Day. For most boys my age, it's an honor to go. For me, not so much. Believe it or not District Four, I just want to live the simple life, how I always have, and not kill a bunch of innocent kids in an arena on live television.

But I don't have that luxury today.

My friends worked hard to convince me that it was a great idea to volunteer. The worst part is, I can't voice my strong argument in response without being shot in the head by our Peacekeeping force. Today, no matter who is selected out of the reaping ball, I will volunteer for them.

It's like a rite of passage for us...and especially so for my friends.

I sigh, pulling on a clean white shirt and black pants, and head out to the square.

My parents give me brief hugs after we sign in, knowing that since I'd never taken tesserae, I would be safe this year. They had no idea of my plans.

I stand in my roped section for the fifteen year olds. We all stare ahead at the podium where the mayor is making his annual speech where he pretends to be smart and formal.

"Ladies first, and remember, let's have a happy Hunger Games!" says the idiot escort, Frost her name is.

She reaches as delicately as possible and brings out the name.

"Nadia Aaryn!"

It means nothing to me, and I size up my opponent as she walks onto the stage, coming from my section. She must be my age.

She looks a little scared, but calm and collected. I hope I can do as much.

She then fishes into the boy's bowl.

"Viro Pendant!" she announces.

Before I can even begin to ponder who the heck the boy is, I raise my hand and volunteer, mustering up as much courage as I can.

This is the ultimate way to be feared in the arena, to be a Career. I must display such bravery that all of the other tributes I will have to fight will avoid me as much as possible.

I try not to display any emotion as my parents call out to me, frightened. The little boy who was originally called comes down, looking grief stricken, as I go up and stand by Nadia.

We shake hands, and the mayor congratulates us, and continues his speech and goes on to describe the Games.

I size up Nadia again, and realize she's pretty, but I work very hard at not distracting myself from my goal. I will win. And I will prove all of these friends of mine that I'm brave, and will stop at nothing to survive.


	6. District Five Reaping

**District 5 Reaping**

**_Meira Griss, 15_**

I wake up to a pleasant dawn finding its way through my long lashes. I yawn, and stretch, and get up from the small cot that's a pitiful excuse for a bed. I remember a time where I actually had a fairly nice life, in a warm and clean house with two loving parents. But that was seven years ago, and now...it's just me, and _him_. Meira Griss, constantly avoiding her drunken, abusive father. He was great once... he loved me. But when Mom died, he died too.

It's too late to forgive him, though. I have the scars to prove it.

I look at the bit of food I found yesterday. The nuclear plants are loud, so I often sneak in and steal a bit from their small kitchens for the workers. They never hear me.

I eat all I have: a bit of bad cheese, and some bread. I leave my father to his own fate.

He's passed out on the kitchen table, face drenched in oddly-colored drool. Dead drunk. I grab the reaping dress I've worn every day for the past seven years from the small corner (it still fits), and I head out for the square. I don't bother to rouse him, I hope the Peacekeepers find him.

I find myself in the section for the fifteen year olds of District Five, assuming I signed in or something, right where I'm supposed to be after a short walk. Our mayor launches into his signature speech about the Dark Days. I find him particularly amusing, as he always tries to act Capitol, imitating their accent and drama, but only makes himself look stupid.

For some reason, my nervous system is being very active, and the only way to keep me from falling down is my obsessive finger twiddling, and I sing to myself under my breath. Mom used to sing to me... and so now singing to myself is a habit for whenever I don't feel right. Plus, when you have no one else to talk to, you just have to talk to yourself.

I used to have friends, when I went to school. I ditch it now, most of the time, and there's so many kids (all of the middle class and poor are stuffed into one school), that they have no idea I'm not there.

"Ladies first!" declares the Capitol woman (I think her name is Verdana). She reaches her long fancy and surgically altered fingers into the bowl, clawing through pieces of paper with names-lives-written on their fragile surface.

_Here we go_, I think, fingers winding and unwinding nervously.

"Meira Griss!' she announces.

The crowd is silent, and so am I.

"Meira?" she calls.

She looks baffled by the lack of a person walking up to the podium, and so does the crowd, because of the name. Nobody knows of my existence. My father is probably too drunk to realize his daughter has just been sentenced to death, if he's even been stable enough to leave the house. But, I muster up my confidence, point my chin, and head for the podium.

She and a few others clap politely, and she tries to get back into the spirit of things by saying, "That's not the spirit of the Games! Let's hope we get a more enthusiastic boy tribute!" she says, reaching into the boy's bowl.

Nobody laughs at her small joke.

I clench my fist, ignoring the bit of cheering that happens when a boy appears on the other side of our reaping balls. We shake hands, and as we stand back for the rest of the speech, I realize how angry I am. Father can't be drunk for the whole duration of the Games... he'll see me killing people and realize what a mess of a person he's been.

**_Ajay Nevelen, 14_**

I stare blankly at the girl who just took the stage. She is definitely pretty with her dark brown hair and pale eyes, but intimidating for the scar above her left eye, her clenched fist, and the sheer determination on her face. But more than anything, this Meira Griss—known by no one—is clearly a survivor. I try not to ponder the chance of District 5 finally winning the Games this year, but it all happens so fast.

Verdana cheerfully shakes Meira's hand, then turns back to the enormous glass orb that holds lives on each of the thousands of boy slips.

"Now for the boys!" she says charmingly.

I clench my fists, trying hard to breath deeply.

"Ajay Nevelen!"

I remember once my friends and I were hanging out in my backyard. We were searching for adrenaline, so we spun around in circles a ton and tried to get dizzy.

This is nothing compared to now. The ground swoops out from under me, the world is titling so, so far, so much that I think I will fall off it's surface.

People are calling my name, but it's the sobs of my little brother, Dyron, that bring me back to consciousness.

I realize now people having been staring at me, but it's expected when you are reaped. I will do this. For Dyron's benefit.

I clench my fists, like Meira did, but it is so much less convincing now that my wrists have taken up a very nervous tremor.

I try so hard not to let the tears spill over, and walk up to the podium. I shake Verdana's creepily inhuman hand, and then Meira's.

"Panem, I give you the tributes of District 5!" she says merrily to the cameras.

Right, what a joke. The only people that are watching are the people in the Capitol. And they will still be watching as I die in the arena.


	7. District Six Reaping

**District 6 Reaping**

_**Jade Cox, 12**_

I feel warm, leathery hands on my shoulders, rousing me from my torturing sleep. I awake with a gasp, and find my brother Daniel standing over me. He wears his usual scowl, dark brows down, green-blue eyes looking at me with concern.

"I'm fine." I choke out, although I'm nothing of the sort.

The nightmares just get worse and worse on reaping day.

He looks at me skeptically, definitely not believing I was fine at all, but left me to change. I pulled on my pale and filthy blue reaping dress. I hold back tears, as I remember it was my mother's.

Daniel comes back in, wearing nice clothes. But he's twenty, so he doesn't have to worry about getting picked. But we were so poor, Daniel and I, and so I had to take six tesserae. My name is in that reaping bowl seven times. The odds aren't in my favor today.

He holds my hand, massaging it from the fist that it had formed during the night. We walk through the square and sign in. I find myself nearly hyperventilating when I am about to go stand with the twelve year olds.

"Listen," says Daniel, rapidly trying to calm me down. "Your name is in there seven times. There are others with their names in twenty times. You'll be fine. Meet me at the edge of the square when it's done."

He hugs me, long and tight. We're the only remaining two of the family: we have to stick together.

I go and stand with the other twelve year olds. Sweat pours from my palms, and I try (unsuccessfully) to wipe it on my dress, which is incredibly unabsorbant.

"Welcome, welcome!" trills Wilma Thread, the escort. Today she sports neon blue tights, and high purple heels. Her unnatural orange eyes gleam brightly at the prospect of sending two innocent kids from this crowd to their death.

The mayor is just finishing up his speech when she leaps to the mike, like a starving cat, readying for the kill. "Girls first!"

The only thing I can hear is her claws sifting through the papers. The only thing I can see are her claws sifting through the papers. The only thing I feel is fear. It consumes me. "Jade Cox!"

No, I don't cry. I find myself just shocked. Daniel was right, my name was in there seven times. Seven slips out of thousands. The odds _couldn't _have been against me!

I find myself staring down at District 6 from the high podium. I can't spot Daniel's face in the crowd, and I don't want to. It will just add to my enormous pile of despair.

Everyone is silent, contemplating their girl tribute. But there's a stiffness and sadness in the air, just like usual when a twelve year old is selected.

I wish I could summon up my usual sarcasm, but the truth dawns on me. I always assumed I'd have a short life. But now I will die at age twelve. In the arena.

_**Sleighter Texlin, 18**_

"Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven." I lifted the sixty pound weight ten more times, and then put it down.

I sigh for a moment, wiping the sweat from my brow. Mom comes into the room, a nervous and sad expression on her face, as usual.

"Sleighter-"

"Please. It's reaping day. I need to get up my strength. This is my last opportunity." I say tartly, crossing to the other side of my makeshift workout room, and start practicing with my sword on a dummy.

Mom continues watching, looking pained with every swipe. By the time I've finished, the dummy is a pile of stuffing on the ground.

"We should get going." She murmurs, staring at it with worry.

I grunt in response, and run upstairs, puffing.

I'd worked so hard with my speed, and it's gone nowhere. When I'm in the Games, that'll be a weakness.

I pull on some reaping clothes, nice black pants and a nice white shirt. I keep the top unbuttoned, hoping I look good when I get to the Capitol.

This is the last possible year. I have trained my hardest, and my strength is at its fullest. This is the year I will volunteer.

We head out to the square, and Mom tries to take my hand. I pull it away. Ever since my father died, I chose a different path. The Career way of life. I worked hard and trained while she grieved. There's no turning back now.

We sign in, and I say goodbye. She tries to hug me, but I push away and go to my section.

"Welcome, welcome!" says Wilma Cord gleefully.

The mayor and her quickly establish their back-and-forth piece, and then the mayor launches into his speech.

Before we know it Wilma jumps up and declares, "Girls first!"

Some shocked-looking twelve year old is picked. For a moment I feel bad for her, but then harden my heart and steel myself, knowing what is to come.

"Now for the boys!"

She picks some skinny 16 year old. He looks nervous but determined.

But before he even takes a step to the podium, I lunge out, growling "I volunteer!"

I walk up to the podium, not bothering to look for my mother. I don't need distractions now. Nothing will stand in my way. I have some Games to win.


	8. District Seven Reaping

**District 7 Reaping**

_**Zimozielony Drewno, 14**_

"Z, you getting ready?" calls Mom from the small bathroom.

I groan in response. I stare at my wooden cot, sizing up the green reaping dress that lay on it. As usual, there really was no way of getting out of it.

_Let's just get this over with, _I think. I pull the stupid thing on, not bothering to stare at myself in the mirror. Why do girls do that anyway? I already know I have black hair and green eyes, why do I need to make sure they're still the same color?

I find myself in step with Mom and Dad as we make our way to the reaping in the square.

You would imagine District Seven to be earthy, but every single tree in our sight is used for lumber. Well, except the tiny saplings that have no real purpose. That's what they tell us in school, but once they grow taller they can be used for lumber, and their oxygen is what keeps us alive. The square is abundant with squat, concrete buildings, sawdust (which covers practically everything), pine needles, and the smaller trees.

But the thing about the trees is that there's always more to log, proved by my strong muscles, and my weariness from working every day, even on reaping day. No matter what day of the year it is, there are always more trees.

Our stomachs are all growling, but none of us try to eat anything, or even think about food as we sign in. Mom and Dad kiss me goodbye before I head off to the fourteen's section. I don't even squirm. No point in squirming, it's reaping day.

I pick at my dress. I think Mom used to wear this at her reapings too, because it's faded and torn and uncomfortable. I hate dresses. I don't know how girls prance around in them all the time. So exposing.

I spot some of my friends from school, but decide not to talk to them. There's no point in trying to pretend today isn't happening with a few jokes and punches to the arm.

As the escort, Dweezil Quinn, and the mayor launch into their back-and-forth speech, I find myself wondering what it'd be like for me to be in the Games.

I'd hate every moment of it—even if it was just about survival. Sure, I'd probably be pretty good, but I've been doing it for fourteen years, without a crowd, Gamemakers, and an arena.

"Ladies first!" says Dweezil in a jolly voice.

All the sudden, I realize I'm nervous. My name is in that glass orb eighteen times. The odds aren't in my favor today. But the even more nerve-racking thought is that I'm _nervous_. I'm _never_ nervous.

I clench my fists, grit my teeth, and wait as he takes his dear time unfolding the slip of paper.

"Zimozielony Drewno!"

For the first time in my many reapings, I hear laughter in the crowd. Well, duh, he mispronounced my name. Like everyone always does.

Nothing like getting sentenced to death and having someone pronounce your name as _Zih-moh-zee-loney_, when it's _Zy-moe-zeh-lony_.

I realize now that I'm walking to the stage, taking strange and stiff steps. I also notice that all the cameras are all on me.

_All of Panem is seeing me in a dress!_ I think angrily. I then realize what a petty thought this is and resist the urge to slap myself.

_Panem isn't watching_, I think. _The Capitol is_. And whatever they think of me, well, it doesn't even begin to compare to what I think of them.

I'm aware of a boy's name being called. A stiff handshake. A bit of applause from the audience.

Yeah. This is gonna be a tough couple of weeks.

_**Forrest Asher, 15**_

I stare at myself in the mirror, long and hard. Reaping day. The dark circles under my eyes and the scowl I give myself remind me what it does to a person. My pine green eyes sparkle with determation, but also betraying a bit of fear.

I wish I could be braver. But wishing only leads to more anger. And anger is so hard to escape.

"Forrest!" Maple calls from the other room. Her voice is rough and ragged from the day's work. We only just stopped working, with less than a half hour until we had to be in the square.

"C-coming!" I reply. I let out a deep growl, like whenever I stutter. It isn't fair. I never used to, but I get being orphaned is enough to drive someone mad.

I take one last glimpse of my mutilated left hand before slipping it into my black glove. No matter what day it is, some secrets you just have to keep.

Maple and I walk out to the square, shoulders sagging. Her dirt-caked right hand encloses my left after we sign in.

I look up into her piercing blue eyes. Though she says nothing to me directly as we continue walking, her gaze spoke volumes. She believed in me, even when I'd given up on myself.

We walk into our section for fifteen year olds, hands still clenched. The mayor began his speech, and the escort, Dweezil Quinn, broke in a few times to add important and jolly points about the Capitol.

Finally, he skips up to the podium like a little girl, and begins to read the name of the girl. "Zimozielony Drewno!"

Maple snorts. "That's a mouthful." I want to chide her for being so rude, especially to the fourteen year old who had just been sentenced to death, but when I look into her eyes, I only find utter relief that she hadn't been chosen.

"Now for the boys!"

I find myself remembering out situation, as he claws through name after name. Maple and I live an illegal life, pretending our father still cares for us, in order to avoid the community home. We work at least ten hours each day, and we each took ten tesserae when we were twelve, to keep us alive.

My name is in that orb forty times. A small voice in my head reminds me that it's forty in thousands, but the odds don't work like that.

I figure this out a split second before he reads my name.

Maple screams, reaching out her filthy hand as the Peacekeepers drag her back. I glance back at her, giving her a pained look, and make my way to the podium. Somehow, I knew this would happen. I tried so hard to be optimistic on the outside, but when my father died and I was mutilated in that horrible accident... I'd lost all hope. And that is what tributes must do before they go into the arena. Abandon hope. Because there never is hope for them. The odds don't like tributes much. Hope is a distraction.

I size up Zimolelony—Z—and find so much in her pale green gaze. I see her eyes, wild with pain as are my own. We both work so hard, I can see it in her long, muscular limbs and the dirt from under her nails.

As calm and relaxed as her composture looks from the outside, I can see her knowledge, too. We both know we will die in that arena. But we will continue to work, even then. Making our final stands against the Capitol, and the rest of the world.


	9. District Eight Reaping

**District 8 Reaping**

_**Flint Mandrake, 15**_

I stare out at the bleakness that was once my district. Velvet colored light filters through unkempt blackened buildings. Enormous rats scuttle against the cool earth.

And there they are, the spiders. The enormous, black, man-eating spiders. Huge and looming red eyes, always, always watching you… the spiders… they're always there. I gasp as they bore into my eyes, each pricking at its supple surface with delicate claws.

I try hard not to scream as I awaken from my terrifying dream. I blink, all the sudden having forgotten. Funny, dreams always work like that. Judging by heart rate alone and the heavy sweating in my palms, I can only assume that it involved giant spiders. That's the horrible thing—you don't get girls when you're afraid of spiders.

I check my old and beaten clock on the wooden nightstand next to me. Wow, I woke up late. It's nearly noon. Two hours until the reaping.

I slowly work my way out of bead, lazily killing time wandering around the large, empty house. Mom is watching the pre-reaping show tentatively on the old TV set in the family room.

Not much of a family, with just the two of us.

She notices me, and we quietly sip milk and eat bits of cheese.

She looks at the TV, then back at me. "Time for the reaping." It's all she really needed to say.

We head upstairs and change, and then walk out to the square, hand in hand. She's really all I have. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

We sign in, and I hug her before going to stand by other fifteen year olds.

"Ladies first!" declares Greta Quimby, the District Eight escort.

I suppose I was asleep for the mayor's speech.

"Annabelle Crest!"

The crowd falls into a hush as a beautiful girl calmly takes the stage. Her long golden hair falls in ringlets around her ivory face, and it seems to emit a hypnotizing glow. She has a little pixie nose, seductive lips, and her sky blue eyes radiate life. But even a girl who probably looks happy often looks dull and hollow on reaping day.

Greta greets her enthusiastically, probably happy to finally have a pretty tribute from District 8.

It begins to be very hard for me to concentrate on anything but Annabelle in her pretty blue dress. I feel drool on my lip, and lick it away, very embarrassed.

"Now for the boys!" she almost screams into the microphone.

She fishes around in the boy's bowl, looking up at a bird in the sky rather distractedly. "Here we are!" she says, drawing the bit of paper out of the bowl.

"Flint Mandrake!"

Everything after is kind of blurred. My mom is screaming, trying to reach me. Peacekeepers are shoving her down. I hear a gunshot.

I wish I knew if she was alright.

On the stage, I know tears spilling over the edges of my eyes, and it was all I could do not to sob. The girl tribute giving me a glance with strong emotion—whether is was negative or positive I don't know. Greta made strangled animal sounds as her stupid Capitol brain attempted to process what happened. I wonder if I'm doing the same.

_**Annabelle Crest, 15**_

I fiddle with the hem of my powder blue dress absentmindedly.

I usually like fancy clothes, but there is nothing to like about reaping clothes. It only dredges up old horrors and sadness as we watch District Eight tributes die again and again. And even the ones who come back—they're murderers.

"Annabelle!" My older sister Kira calls from down the hall.

"Coming!" I call back.

I rush down and greet my mom and Kira, the only family I have left. We eat a bit of bread with old cheese, and head down to the square.

After we sign in, Kira goes and stands in the eighteen year old section. I can only hope she doesn't get reaped. We're rather poor, and she takes the brute force of the tesserae. She never allowed me to take any. Ever since Father died she's been so nice… but so overprotective.

I twiddle my thumbs some more in the fifteen year olds section. I notice people staring, and blush down at the ground. It's not my fault I'm pretty (yes, I _know_ I am too, it's not like I've never looked in a mirror). Sometimes it's rather annoying, especially on days when you just want to fade into the shrubbery, unnoticed.

Of course, in the Games, being ugly could be a very valuable asset. A few years ago, a District 6 tribute, who was clearly smart and strong was ugly, even after the stylists tried to work their magic. He got no gifts until the end, when he was in the final two, and could actually kill brutally. He won, amazingly enough.

I practice deep breathing during the mayor's speech, out of nervousness. But not for the chance of my name being drawn, but of Kira's.

"Ladies first!" Greta Quimby calls gleefully.

I genuinely try to like everyone I meet, and I don't have anything negative to say about anybody. But I will tell you, Greta Quimby is not a nice person.

She reaches her long and graceful fingers into the reaping bowl.

"Annabelle Crest!"

A long silence follows. Lots of the people of District 8 know who I am. I know Kira wouldn't volunteer for me. Because as much as she loves me, she knows I couldn't handle watching her die on that TV.

I walk up to the podium in slow mechanical steps. My long hair swishes slightly, and I can hear my district hold their breaths as I stand by Greta Quimby in her crazy neon green robe.

As determined as I am to come home, I can only hope Kira and Mom will be able to handle watching me die.


	10. District Nine Reaping

**District 9 Reaping**

_**Collita Gra, 16**_

I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, slowly scraping my long red hair back into its usual ponytail. Not that I'm usually vain, but right now I am simply contemplating.

Today's reaping day, where they pick contestants for the Games. I wonder how my chances are. I wouldn't let Ordi, my younger brother, take any tesserae this year, as it's his first, but I took three, as usual. I don't pay much attention to how the tesserae system works, but I know my name will be in the reaping bowl twenty times.

I pull on reaping clothes that Mom left out, nice black pants and a faded gray shirt. This is my fifth time wearing these.

I head to the small kitchen, where Ordi and my parents wait nervously, picking at bits of bread.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, as I realize it's nearly two.

"It's fine," says Dad.

We all head out, and Ordi nervously takes my hand. "You'll be fine," I say. "You're name's in there once."

We all sign in, and I have to seperate myself from my younger brother's tight grip. I lead him to the section for twelve year olds, and then stand with my fellow sixteens. I massage my fingers open, happy to be out of Ordi's sweaty and tight grasp.

"Welcome, citizens of District Nine!" calls out the escort, Tangie Whittle.

This year she's sporting a ridiculously neon red dress, and a matching red wig. Her long and fake nails also have the same color, and the golden tatoos on her face glow.

She turns it over to the mayor, who is an elderly woman. She begins the speech about the Dark Days, but I swear, she's so old that the wrinkles fall into her mouth as she talks, so she basically garbles nonsense for a long period of time.

"Thank you," says Tangie, looking at the mayor skeptically. I suppose they don't have any ugly or old people in the Capitol. "Anyway, let's begin with the boys!"

She fishes around in the glass bowl for a while, and I hear all the other kids draw their breath in. I find myself doing the same, waiting to exhale, waiting to know that I can celebrate in the streets tonight, waiting to know that my family will be safe.

But the odds don't work like that.

"Ordi Gra!"

Silence. That's what follows as my brother's name is called. He quietly and stiffly works his way up to the podium, face scrunched in red in the effort not to cry.

I find my lips moving, saying something, but to me, it's as garbled as the mayor's speech.

But then I hear it. My mouth finally contorts itelf into saying my intentions. "I volunteer!" I nearly screech. "I volunteer!"

Tangie looks caught by surprise. "Well, sorry there, but you must know that girls can only volunteer for other girls!"

I give her a deep scowl of hatred. It's gonna be a long train ride with her to get to the Capitol.

"I am not a girl." I say firmly, almost shoving my brother aside, down to safety as I stand by her at the podium. "I am Col Gra, and I'm not gonna let my little brother go to the Games."

_**Kira Howren, 16**_

I brush through my long and shimmery brown hair with my fingers in front of the mirror, stalling with my time. I straighten my dress again, and pick nervously at my fingers.

Reaping day.

The most, hands down, crazy-scariest day of the entire year. Not that I have much chance of going to the Games, but the impossible seems to happen an awful lot.

"Kira, honey, come on down! It's nearly quarter to two!" Mom calls from downstairs.

I rush down the stairs nervously, but slow down, realizing I could trip. We head out to the square, and Mom squeezes my sweaty hands. "You'll be fine," she says, and kisses me on the cheeck.

Dad gives me a big bear hug and wishes me well.

I want to say more to them, but before I know it, they're gone.

I go and stand by the other sixteens, biting my nails, scooting my feet around, and my fear distracts me so much I can't hear anything until our escort, Tangie declares, "Boys first!"

_All the more time to get scared_, I realize.

"Ordi Gra!" she declares.

This name doesn't ring a bell, but I find myself appalled to see a little twelve year old boy begin to walk up to the stage.

It's dead silent until something of a tortured scream errupts from my section. "I VOLUNTEER!" it said.

I looked over, confused to see a redheaded girl volunteering for the little boy. Perhaps this was his sister who was a bit rusty on the rules of the reaping?

Tangie laughs a bit at this. "Well, sorry there, but you must know girls can only volunteer for other girls!"

_My thoughts exactly_. I echo in my mind.

"I am not a girl." The sudden deepness and determination to the voice of the volunteer catches me by surprise.

I can't see his face too well, but I guess he could be male...

"I am Col Gra," he said, marching his way up to the stage. He was tall, so he looked down a bit on Tangie's forhead. "and I am not going to let my brother go to the Games."

The entire District Eight looks up at him, worship written all over our faces. And we errupt into cheer, applauding Col's devotion.

"Well," said Tangie, sniffing disdainfully. She was obviously not a big fan of Col. "Time for the girls."

I believe I see her straighten her wig before she reaches her hand into our bowl.

My heart beat quickens, sweat pours from everywhere that isn't covered by elegant reaping clothing, and my eyes loose focus as Tangie reads out the name.

"Kira Howren!"

Fear. The only thing that is on my mind as I find myself taking stiff, robotic movements to the podium.

The crowd is silent, probably noticing my weakness, as I let out a bit of a choked sound as I get to my destination, and the tears beginning to spill over.

My face reddens in effort not to cry, and I see Col looking at me, with an odd expression on his face.

All the sudden, I find him grinning at me. I'm so confused, I find myself stopping the rushing tears down my face, and give a wobbly grin in reply.

"Some Games, huh?" he mouths across the podium.

I'm surprised he has enough courage to do this with Tangie around and all, but Tangie is so absorbed in the second half of the mayor's speech, nodding mechanically and having a false grin plastered on her face, she doesn't even notice.

"Some Games." I mouth back.


	11. District Ten Reaping

**District 10 Reaping**

_**Azalea Mine, 16**_

"Get something nice on, and meet me in the square!" Dad calls roughly from the skinning room.

I can hear him finishing up the last hide before he heads out to the reaping, his dusty leather boots causing the feeble wood panels on the ground below him to creak. I finish the cow I was working on in the butchering room and head upstairs where our large family lives on top of the business. My own worn boots scuff on the ground as I knock on the bedroom door. I sleep in the room with my parents, as I'm the oldest, and my twin younger brothers Jaryn and Rae sleep in here with my little sister Holly.

Jaryn and Rae are midway through dressing, but Holly sits to the side, a look of concern etched on her face.

"What's the matter?" I ask her, tossing her an old dress of mine mother left for her.

She shrugs. "I'm just worried for you."

I shrug, but I'm worried too. "I'm fine, Holly. My name's just thirty of thousands."

She tries her best to look convinced, but I know she's scared. I give her a hug and tell her it'll be all right, and our family will be spared from the reaping this year, as it has been every other year my name has been entered.

I drag the boys and her down to the square after we finished dressing and eat the meager bit of beef Father left for us. I avoid glancing at others, so, so afraid of what might happen to some of them.

We sign in after a long wait in a never-ending line. I am aware of myself passing some of my friends as I make my way to the sixteen year-old roped off section, crossing my fingers.

As more people pour into the square, the cheery woman escort is adjusting her makeup to the side of the stage, and one of the cameramen is having a word with our mayor.

The woman is a new one this year, and unlike the others who waited patiently for at least twenty minutes for the population of District 10 to make it into the square, she is very eager to start.

She looks very antsy as she sits through the mayor's speech of the Dark Days. When he concludes, she jumps to her feet, and stands by the microphone.

"Ladies first!" she declares, just as they all do.

A nervous ball of energy swarms around in my stomach, bouncing off the sides, and transferring sweat into my clenched palms.

I close my eyes as the name she just read sinks in.

It was my name.

Making my way up to the podium went by like a blur. I could hear my mother calling my name, Holly sobbing.

As emotional of a person as I tend to be in private, I just try my best to block out the noise and not shed a single tear.

I stand stiff and rigid as the crowd stares back, a few people weaving through, placing coins in others hands as they bet on the children picked.

I hear the woman clawing through the boy's bowl.

The name is called, and I hear the shock register upon the crowd. No. No, the odds are not in my favor today.

Because the name called was Jaryn Mine.

My brother.

_**Jaryn Mine, 13**_

Rae and I claw through the pile of reaping clothes we've gathered over the years, and this year I select a pair of ill-fitting black pants and a clean white shirt.

All us kids nibble tentatively on the beef our parents left for us, knowing our stomachs only want the relief that our family has been spared, and not food.

This is only my second reaping where I have been in danger, and I'll tell you, it gets worse every time.

We sign in, anxiety growing by the minute.

As we near the podium, we discover the new woman we have this year has even taller heels and an even more irritable voice, as she drones on, she and the mayor doing their typical speeches.

Rae and I practically shove our way through the frightened crowd, and we stand in the thirteen aged area.

I'm trying very hard not to shake, as my friends might be seeing me nearby, but it's useless. My knees refuse to work right.

Finally, the two idiots on the stage finish their speeches, and the woman calls out "Ladies first!"

Here we go. The Games are beginning, as they do. Every year.

"Azalea Mine!" she says gleefully, the name meaning nothing to her.

No. Oh no. I let out a noise, a mix between a choke and a gasp, and Rae grips my wrist tightly from beside me.

I hear my mother from somewhere in the crowd calling my sister's name, and my father frantically calming her.

I'm surprised to see my sister make her way up to the podium with clenched fists and a determined look on her face. She must want to win the Games to benefit the family. That's her main motive in life it seems, as she's such an extra mother to Rae, Holly and I, as our actual one works with Father most of the time.

For such a motherly person, Azalea looks fierce and in that moment I have a slight twinge of hope that she'll win. She can do it, can't she? She's handling it well, the sponsors must know that!

But as she stands next to the woman, I can see her face twisting hard not to sob. I know I would do the same if I were called...

"Now for the boys!" the Capitol woman says in her horrendous accent.

It takes a while for her long, fake nail to snag the little piece of paper in the giant reaping bowl.

"Jaryn Mine!" she reads out.

My knees finally fail on me. I'm falling to the ground...falling...

I feel Rae hoist me up, tears falling down his face. He seems unable to speak. But what's to say?

He'd never volunteer for me-and I don't want him to. But the truth is, when it comes to the Games, family devotion only goes so far.

I feel the crowd half pushing and half carrying me as I find myself on the podium. I realize how weak and stupid I must look in my baggy pants and red wet face.

But I shouldn't feel stupid.

I will die with a purpose.

I will die so that my sister can win the Games, and so that my family will have some chance, unlike me.


	12. District Eleven Reaping

**District 11 Reaping**

_**Karina Towhee, 17**_

When I hear the noise of people migrating into the city square, I stand up, brushing off the debris of my root collecting from my faded jeans. I've been working hard all morning harvesting them, along with others around my age, since school is off today. The more we harvest, the more we make. And since I've had little to no profit this year, I am determined to keep myself from starving.

I make sure no one's looking, and sneak a few roots into my herbs bag, and head back to town.

"Karina!" Mom calls from upstairs. "Get ready for the reaping! I left a dress on your bed! And wait for us! And try not to bite your nails! Maybe get in a shower too! And put a little more effort into your hair!"

I don't respond. I never do. She doesn't consider my opinion, anyway.

I hate the dress, dresses in general really, but I put it on, hoping that, as usual, I won't get chosen from the enormous girls reaping ball, and will celebrate later. But there's always two families who lock their doors and close their shutters as they grieve their soon to be dead children.

But compared to some of the other sheltered people in our district (there's only really a few of those), I have a low risk of survival. We are pretty poor, and because of all the tesserae I have been having to take, my name will be entered forty-eight times.

In two years, I will be safe. Nineteen, above the reaping age limit that protects us from the horror that is the annual Hunger Games.

I leave with Mother and Father, but we don't say anything. Mother does insist on fussing over my hair. I decide to ditch her, sign in by myself, and stand in the roped off section for seventeen year olds. Now that I think about it, I might be happier in the Games.

I look at my parents. Yes, I would be much happier fighting twenty-three other children to the death in an arena than with them. They think I'm helpless, and weak. When really, I've been the one keeping them alive for the past five years.

I even think I could make it, in the Games. But then I think of the large and buff Careers-from One, Two, and Four. What could I do, even with my skills with daggers against buff dudes with swords?

But I'm smarter than them. Even here, in District Eleven, where the Peacekeepers are so strict, I've made my way around the rules. I'm smart. I could kill them. Killing is not a problem for me.

The mayor recites her speech about the Dark Days and all that other nonsense, and the cheery Capitol man escort (Lupus, they call him) announces "Girls first!"

He reaches into the reaping ball, where my name is entered forty eight times.

And he announces the name.

My name.

Sure, I'm scared. But I'm happy, too.

I will finally prove to those idiot parents of mine that I am _not _helpless. They should have seen that when I've gathered and stolen for them every day. It goes right over their heads. But now they will see me kill twenty-three other children, and then they'll know. I am more powerful than ever.

_**Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale, 12**_

A yellowish shaft of light cut through my vision, beneath the dark veils of my closed eyes. My eyes flit open instantly, locating my two brothers in the small, sturdy room.

Hatcher looks like a baby deer when he sleeps, even though he is two years older. When his legs are underneath the covers, I could almost imagine him being able to move on his own, his legs taking him on a run through the orchards.

Zebulon doesn't look anywhere near angelic in his sleep. If possible, he looks more demonic. His scowl is still set in stone, lips curled down into a disapproving sneer. Neither of them are up yet. But I suppose I couldn't sleep in much, as today is my first reaping.

I get up silently, putting on a clean white shirt, faded black pants, and my usual work boots. Although our house is small, we have four rooms, all sturdy and warm. Since Father runs a cotton industry, we aren't entirely poor.

I find myself getting nervous though, because, compared to others of District Eleven, we are. I had to take tesserae for myself, my parents, and my brothers. My name is in the reaping bowl six times. For a twelve year old, that's not very good. But at least I didn't take two for each member of the family.

I get continually nervous as I hear my father stirring in his room. He's usually unpleasant, but he'll be raging if he finds that I got up before him.

But I realize it'd be stupid to stay here and face him when I have a very good excuse to leave the house. The reaping.

I decide to leave my father to Zebulon, cross back into my room, and rouse Hatcher from his sleep.

I quietly help him dress, and carry him to his wooden wheelchair. It cost the whole family's salary for two months to get that. But it's worth it, now Hatcher can earn a meager bit of salary on his own.

I arouse my mother too, and the three of us head to the square and sign in.

I find my pulse to be thumping louder and louder in my chest, threatening to break through the bonds of muscle and skin.

I clench Hatcher's wrist out of fear as Mother sadly lets us go to our sections.

"You'll be fine." Hatcher murmured, squeezing my own wrist. "Six times out of thousands? I'd say the odds are most definitely in your favor."

I smile at him. Only Hatcher can get me to smile. But still, only once in a blue moon. I'm amazed he's managed to do so on reaping day. But he always knows what to say.

The oddly dressed Lupus bounces onto the stage after the mayor concludes his ever-boring speech. I hate most Capitol people, but Lupus is one of the worst. His long, curly hair has been died to resemble a rainbow, his brownish skin stenciled with horses which seem to glow a pale blue, his ever-changing eyes sport the color neon green. I despise him, flowing red cape and all.

"Girls first!" he declares, and then laughs as though he is humoring himself.

He sticks his brown, saggy arm into the girl's reaping bowl. I can feel a girl from my section stiffen beside me.

"Karina Towhee!" I recognize the name, knowing that Ms. Towhee works under my father in the cotton industry.

The girl who takes the stage is tall, about seventeen, determination glowing from her narrowed green eyes. The fire that emanates from her frightens me, she reminds me for a moment of a Career Tribute.

"Why, hello dear!" says Lupus in a jolly voice. He then clears his throat. "Well, how exciting! Now for the boy tributes."

He reaches his hand into the boy's orb, and each time his long fingernail hits a bit of paper, something hard hammers inside of me.

He finally selects a slip after taking his dear time, then holds it up to the sun. He stretches it far enough to rip it and says, "Quincy Cottondale!"

The ball of ice in my stomach begins to grow. Long, sharp icicles prick my stomach from the inside.

I walk stiffly up to the podium, avoiding the gaze of the crowd, afraid of what I'll find. My cold blue eyes examine my fellow tribute as the mayor drones on.

Her eyes are as cold as mine, and I feel my hate reflected there. For a moment, I'm comforted by the thought that she might understand me. But I realize, if it came down to me, that I could kill her. And so no matter if our parents work together, if we come from the same district, or even feel the same way—she will have no problem killing me.


	13. District Twelve Reaping

**District 12 Reaping**

**_Em Kingston, 13_**

I make my way out of the community home slowly, stalling. I put on one of the spare gray dresses that they had left out in a big pile in our dorm. It signifies reaping day.

Reaping day is the scariest day in the whole year, especially if you are thirteen years old, like me. I eat the bit of bread that my housemother gave to me, grateful someone had the decency to give me something to soothe my nervous stomach. They usually aren't that nice-I have the angry red marks of hands on my face to prove it.

I sign in, traveling in the large group of the community home children, swimming in a sea of gray. When I reach the packed square, I scoot by people carefully until I am surrounded by kids my own age in our roped off area.

They force us to take tesserae in the community home, and sell some of the stuff off in store below where we sleep so that they can afford to take care of us. They make us work to get money, too.

One of my friends, Mabel, squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. The Capitol woman (I think her name's Opal) and the mayor both dutifully give their long speeches, and I grow more and more nervous. I begin to shake, hoping, praying that my name won't be picked. I have entered so much tesserae that I know it's only a matter of time...

"Let's begin!" says the Capitol woman with the curly blue hair.

She puts her pale and perfect Capitol arm into the big plastic girls reaping bowl, fishing through little bits of paper to find the perfect one. The one that will go to the Capitol, play in the Games and die.

"Ah!" she says reading the name. "Em Kingston!"

I freeze, beginning to inhale rapidly, as this might be the last air I ever breathe.

I am going into the arena.

I am going to die.

**_Rymet Flightmaple, 12_**

"Thanks for your help." the man says gruffly.

He's a shop-owner, and in exchange of my work for a day, he offered me some food and money. A deal I would never refuse.

He presses some bills into my palm, and a small little pack onto my shoulders. He pats me on the back and tells me to have a good reaping day. He makes sure nobody sees me and tells me to head out of the back entrance. Of course, no shop-owner would want to be seen with some scrawny Seam kid. They wouldn't want to appear that pathetic in front of their customers. He probably assumes I didn't work that part out myself, but he has no idea.

But I'm surprised to see the sympathetic glance he gives me as he shuts the door. I find that, as I open the pack, he was actually quite generous. Two fresh apples, a bit of goat cheese, some rolls, a tin of water, and a small bit of meat.

_Happy reaping day to you too_, I think bitterly though, as I remember he's always got enough to eat, and that I can't afford to be in debt to someone.

I go back home, where I greet my parents stiffly, as always. They are both coal workers, but it's reaping day, so they got the day off. Even with my meager work, I make more than both of them combined, and as much as it's easier to stay angry at them, I realize that they can't do anything else.

I change into the reaping clothes, and realize that I am in more danger than any other twelve year old boys. Our family is so poor that I put my name in another ten times for additional tesserae. Next year, it will be entered in twenty two times. When I'm eighteen, it will be seventy seven times.

Wow, the odds are not in my favor today.

We go out to the square in silence. I go to my allotted section, and realize that it's my first reaping. But I'm not scared. Just thinking.

My hands absentmindedly move around, as they always do, and I wonder if I'm nervous. But I try not to think about it as the mayor has just finished his speech, and Opal is reaching into the girl's naming bowl.

"Em Kingston!" she announces.

A little girl, scrawny and as Seam as myself goes up and stands at the podium, crying. Only the slight breeze volunteers to take her place.

"Now for the boys!" says Opal as she reaches into our jar.

I think that my pulse speeds up, but yet I feel no emotion.

"Rymet Flightmaple!"

The Twelve people don't know me as well as they even knew the little girl, as I never tell my name to my clients.

Only my parents look heart struck. But as I search the empty void that should be my emotions, I find nothing.

I clench my fists and walk up to the podium, stiffly and serenely.

As expected, nobody takes my place.

I shake hands with Em, and our eyes meet for a moment, and I see fear sparkling in her gray Seam eyes. For a moment I pity her, but I remember that pity, love, and kindness are the most dangerous things in these Games.

Twelve looks up at us expectantly, knowing there's not much hope for either of us, and yet they give us their sympathy. I see it in their eyes. And I know, that no matter how much I genuinely hate these people sometimes, I might just have a few thousand people on my side this time.


	14. Goodbyes

**Goodbyes**

_**Crimson Ashbrie, District 1**_

I finger the beautiful golden ring that my father just pressed into my palm. Tiny, intricate patterns wove around its supple surface. An incredibly expensive-looking ruby was pressed deep into it.

Father closes my fingers around it.

"You can win, Crimson." My little brother, Trevor says from the other side of me.

"You'll do great, kiddo." Mother grins from her crouched position in front of me.

I grin back. "You bet."

_**Kinglsey "King" Johannsen, District 1**_

After the reaping, Peacekeepers escort Crimson and I to the Justice Building. She goes off to another door, sneering in my direction, and I follow the Peacekeepers into a plush room where I will say my final goodbyes.

I know it'd be stupid to cry, and I'm much too tough to. But I realize now it wouldn't be hard at all to when my younger sister Bridget bursts into the room. Her face is full of concern and regret, and it feels like a knife stab to the heart. She must know. Or at least something,

My parents also look remorseful as they enter. Bridget just sits on my lap, looking down at her fingers, which are moving quickly. My parents sit on either side of me, murmuring inaudible praise and suggestions.

Suddenly, everyone is silent as Bridget lifts her gaze. She stares me straight in the eye. "King, you'll win these games, right?"

I give her a sad smile. "Of course I will, Bridget."

_**Mykal Duncan, District 3**_

I sit quietly in the beautiful room in the Justice Building. I fiddle with the tassel on one of the plush pillows.

All the sudden, the Peacekeepers open the door, and Caroline burts into the room, tears are flowing down her beautiful face silently. She leaps into my arms, and I hug her long and tight, tears of my own threatening to make an appearance.

Mom joins our hug, but Caden pulls off to the side, pain written all over his face.

It's silent until Caden surprises us. "You have a chance, you know."

I look at him, confused. "I don't think I do, Caden." My voice is quiet and rough.

"You're incredibly smart, you are quiet, fast, you know what it takes to survive, and you're flexible."

I begin to protest, but Caden continues talking.

"In training you can learn a new weapon, and other survival skills you don't know. I know you won't kill, Mykal, but you can survive."

I frown, considering this. I suppose he's right…but what about Keldon? I could never go into an arena and kill him… I don't think I'd be able to stand if he dies either.

I wonder if he remembers that day, so many years ago…

"Mykal?" says Caden softly.

I sigh. "Okay, Caden. I'll try." I reply.

_**Keldon Peak, District 3**_

My parents rush into the room the moment the Peacekeepers open the door. Mother is in such an emotional state, she can't even talk, so I hug her, no words needed. Father joins us, and for a moment, we're all caught in a tight embrace.

Then Father stands and leave, a final kiss to my forehead. I stay in the room, murmuring reassuring words to Mother. It's ironic that I'm the one comforting her when I'm going to get slaughtered.

I think I'll be doing this until the Peacekeepers arrive, but instead she suddenly stops sobbing, as though remembering something of utter importance. She pulls out a beautifully crafted sharktooth necklace from her pocket. My throat tightens, and before I know it, tears come rolling down my cheeks.

"Wear it." She says quietly.

The Peacekeepers take her away, but I continue to stare at the necklace on my lap.

This was delivered in a simple brown box with Quentin's body. She knows me so well… she must know I don't plan to come back from that arena. This was to show me that I need to. For her.

A war begins inside of me. Love tugs at me from either side. Do I save the love of my life, or do I protect my family? Yet another struggle to deal with inside that arena.

_**Jade Cox, District 6**_

As I expect, Daniel is the only one to enter the room. He pulls me onto my lap, stroking my hair. I know there will be more cameras at the train station, but I find a few silent tears falling from my face and to his warm lap.

He kisses my hair, not saying anything.

Then he pushes me off him, staring at me with such sudden intensity that I'm startled.

"What?" I ask him carefully, wiping away the tears.

He opens my palm, takes something from his pocket, and presses it onto my supple skin.

As his hand draws away, a startled gasp comes from me. In my palm sits a beautiful wild flower. It's been in our family's possession forever. The beautiful aroma coming from it is entirely Capitol made. My father gave this to me when I was only three years old. He found it by accident when he went beyond the fence, just once.

"Keep it safe." Daniel murmurs.

Then he leaves, my heart going with him.

_**Sleighter Texlin, District 6**_

Mom is naturally the only one to appear to say goodbye to me. Her face is not filled with pride, but with fear.

"I'll be fine, Mom." I say as she sits by me.

She clenches my hand hard. "I know." She says quietly.

"I'll win, you know. For both of us. We'll be so stinking rich."

"I don't care about the money." She says hoarsely, capturing me in a hug. "I care about you coming back safe and well. And you will."

Right when is about to leave, she pressed a warm ring into my palm. Upon closer inspection, it is a simple gold ring with the words "_Mister Ray Texlin_" engraved on it. My throat tightens. My father's wedding ring.

"I will come back." I murmur quietly, glancing at the ring, and the last glimpse of my mother walking out of the door. "For both of you."

_**Forrest Asher, District 7**_

Maple is the only one to enter the small but luxurious room meant for goodbyes. She gives me a big bear hug, and sits beside me.

"I think you'll win." She says, as though she's already made up her mind and placed her bets.

I have to smile at her relentless obstinacy.

She sees my amused expression and frowns. "I mean it!" she says, a rough edge to her voice. "You're brilliant, you know that right?"

I resist the urge to punch her, as tears threaten to spill over. Instead, I hug her again.

"You could win," I mutter to her. "You're brilliant."

"Naw," she says. "You're wicked with axes, and I've seen your archery skills, and they aren't bad. Plus, you are a great tree climber, good at woodcrafts, you can build fires, and know about edible plants and trees and stuff." She begins to tick these things off on her fingers.

I smile sadly. "Against the Career Tributes, Maple?"

She gives me a cocky smile. "I think so."

Then we stop joking. We both know where I'm going, and in no way will this irrelevant conversation ease the nervousness eating at my insides.

Then Maple surprises me with her quiet intensity. She hands me a small wooden cube, about the size of a die. On each side there's a fox, a bit of flame, rain, an ax, and bread.

"Where'd you get it?" I murmur, staring at it, admiring its beauty.  
She shrugs. "I found it in the few belongings left from Mom and Pa."

I smile at her. "Thank you." I murmur quietly.

She nods quietly, tears beginning to make tracks in her dirt-streaked face. And then she leaves.

_**Annabelle Crest, District 8**_

Kira and Mom rush into the room, nearly pushing aside the Peacekeepers at the door.

Kira attacks me with a hug, Mom just stroking my hair.

"I love you guys," I murmur quietly, throat tight. Tears begin to glisten at the edge of my vision, and I feel their coolness against my skin as they trickle down my face.

Mom kisses my head. "You'll survive, Annabelle. You are amazing."

Kira then sits by me, clenching my hand. "I should have volunteered for you," she says, the pain in her voice palpable.

"We both know I would never forgive you." I say, the tears tumbling down as fast as my words now.

She sighs, then places something on my lap. She kisses me one last time, grabs my mother's hand, and goes.

In my lap is a beautiful silk ribbon. It is like blue, like the sky, and my eyes. A little diamond charm is on the end. It must have cost Kira a fortune.

I hold it close to my chest, tears wetting its smooth surface.

"I'll be back." I whisper.

_**Flint Mandrake, District 8**_

I push the Peacekeepers aside as we leave the podium, jumping, trying to see if I could look over them. Where was my mom? Did she live? What happened? Questions raced through my mind as the Peacekeepers push me back with firm fists.

"MOM!" I shout.

I'm literally shoved into a decorative room in the Justic Building. Beautiful District 8 tapestries line the walls, and there's lots of fur cushions and velvet. I sit in one of the chairs numbly. I can't blink. I just wait for my mom to come through that door.

But I know she won't. We've been so strongly connected over these years, that as soon as that bullet fired, it was over.

_I don't have anything to win these games for, _I realize as I leave the room with the Peacekeepers. _I'll see you in heaven, Mama._

_**Collita Gra, District 9**_

I stare outside at the hot summer sun, watching the huge swarm of people scattering, running from that horrible concrete square. I try not to focus on the finery around me, but simply on the dust on the window.

I begin a process that helps me cope with the next few minutes, before my family arrives. I focus on my breathing, trying not to think about the Games, not about killing… and definitely not about my family. I suppose it's nice to have a chance to say goodbye—but I don't want to face them. Not when we all know I have little chance of winning. But I know I'll have to try for their sake.

I hear the door creak open, and my gaze is still down while my eyes drift to my family rushing through the door.

Ordi literally leaps towards me, surrounding me with his skinny arms. His tears soak my shirt. "You have to win, Col! You can do it! You're strong!" he goes on listing things I can do. I thought it wouldn't be much, but it's a bit comforting to know I'm not useless. I try my best to tune out the rest of what they're saying—out of fear of crying—but one thing comes to me. "We need you, Col." Says Ordi.

_They need me. _I think. I had to win. For my family. I realized then that I needed them too.

_**Jaryn Mine, District 10**_

I do my best not to cry as we exit the stage and go to the Justice Building. My face is turning many different hues, contorting in effort to remain calm. My palms sweat, and I try to rub them on my shirt, with no success. My breathing comes out in raggedy gasps.

I stagger down onto the couch, and with my head buried in a pillow, I weep. My ribs jerk back and forth rapidly as tears pour out of my eyes, soaking the fine pillow.

To my surprise, only one pair of footsteps enters the room first. I gingerly coax myself out of the pillow, and there she is. Azalea, my sister.

She runs towards me, and we collapse on the couch, sobbing, hugging, saying things, making promises we could never keep in that blasted arena.

Soon after our parents follow, along with the other two siblings, and we're all hugging and sobbing, kissing and wishing.

Holly's tiny body is wrapped around Azalea's, and Rae sits on a chair away from us a bit, tears flowing down his face.

We're all silent for a moment, and then Rae speaks. "I should have volunteered." He says.

We're all silent. We know what a sacrifice that would be, but it is such a burden.

"It'll be easier for me." My voice comes out hoarse and gravelly. "I'll die. Me and Zae together. You'll have to live with it."

There's silence.

Then Rae speaks again. "I'll never forget you." He says, as though he is already thinking about our funerals.


	15. Chariot Rides

**Chariot Rides**

_Random Capitol Townsperson POV_

The City Circle was an enormous frenzy. Packs of people shoved through others to get nearest to the caution tape put up. With my small size, I was able to take my camera and get underneath most of them. My stomach pressed up against the tape, my eyes squinted with the bright lights.

My eyes widen considerably as I locate President Rain standing near the Gamemakers on a platform high above the rest of us.

I envy their beautiful purple robes. We can only buy fake ones, and even then we can only use them for Halloween.

All the sudden, the trumpets sound loudly.

I clench the rope, giddy with excitement. Here comes District One!

Everyone is silent as the silver horses and artfully crafted chariot pass. The girl, Crimson Ashbrie, (says the program), an amazing white dress that reflects the light, and a diamond tiara. She looks grumpy about this, but she looks amazing. Everyone cheers. Kinglsey, the boy, is wearing a diamond studded jumpsuit that's painful to look at. I find myself screaming their names, throwing roses from the small bag I carry.

District 2 comes out, not disappointing us one bit. Ashtra, the girl, is wearing a long silver dress with gorgeous precious stones sewed in. We all gape. Alquando's outfit is alright, his thick, dark gray clothing suits him (so has everything else so far), and the edges glow a bit.

District 3 is next, and the girl, Mykal I think—is ravishing, unlike previous District 3 tributes. She wears a fitted black jumpsuit with black gloves and socks, and reflectant bits of shiny metal and rhinestones are attached. Keldon Peak looks handsome in the same outfit. We cheer loudly.

District 4 comes out, and a wave of salt water seems to drench us as their entire chariot is ocean-themed. Starfish cling to it, and there are pictures of the beach, and the whole thingis painted in rippling shades of blue. Nadia wears sea green clothes and a beautiful cape that hangs off the back, painted with the colors of the sea. Everett looks the same, but both are stunning.

District 5 is incredible. Meira wears an insulated black jumpsuit with electric shocks flowing through fluorescent lights. She's also covered with thin tubes that spurt out electricity every so often. Her dark hair is worn in a bun, and a copper and metal wreath surrounds it. Ajay doesn't disappoint us either with a fitted black jumpsuit with lights on it that change like power grids. We scream our heads off, and I toss more roses.

The little girl from 6 looks heavenly in a billowy dress made to look like a cloud. We all speak in hushed voices, as though not to wake her from a dreamy sleep. The boy looks muscular and sexy in a tight, rather skimpy aviator outfits. A bit of drool lands on my lip. I wipe it away, and make sure no one was looking.

To our surprise the girl from 7 is not in a dress at all, but in olive jeans, a fitted green shirt covered in vine patterns with glowing bits of sap. She also wears a beautiful leafy wreath that she doesn't seem quite happy about. I scream for her, and her bravery. The boy is so handsome, but his stylist disappointed us with him being in a stupid tree costume. I feel bad, knowing that he won't get many sponsors due to this.

The girl from District 8 silences us. Annabelle, I think her name was. The boys all lean forward, eyes shining with utter worship. She's in a flowing quilted dress, each square a different fabric that District 8 makes. As she comes by, I touch a bit of it. The boy, Flint, is dressed in a stupid neon thing.

We all stare at the screens on the bodysuits of the District 9 tributes, mesmerized by the images of wheat growing. Their stylists must have been incredibly smart.

A tear comes from my eyes when we see the brother and sister from 10, dressed in ugly cow and cowboy outfits. Oh, the odds are not in their favor.

District 11 is better thought, the girl, Karina wearing a camouflaged green vests with a leafy green wreath, and the tiny boy called Quinton wearing a simple green suit patterned with grasses, leaves, and rolling hills.

District 12 is terrible, as usual, and the two young children are naked covered in black dust with neon orange coal mining helmets that bobble around on their small heads. They cover themselves self-consciously with their hands.

We cheer as they pause for the president's speech. I don't bother to listen, but simply admire the tributes as the natural light gradually gets dimmer. As they head back into the Training Center, I can only think about which one I'll sponsor.


	16. Training: Day 1

**Training: Day 1: Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4**

Training: Day 2: Districts 5, 6, 7, and 8

Training: Day 3: Districts 9, 10, 11, and 12

_**Ashtra Dechare, 17, District 2**_

We decide to watch the recap of the reapings that night on the train. My mentor, Davnia Pyre sits with me, a pen and paper at the ready. The boy tribute from my district, Quan something-or-other hasn't made an appearance. I'm quite sure he's watching with his mentor somewhere else. It's fine with me-I don't care much for him.

The reapings are compiled together in a short, hour-long program. We come second. Me, looking fierce, but weak because of my desperation. I scold myself internally. And then there's Quan, looking handsome, yes, but less fierce. But he's obviously been training, and I know I should enlist him from the group of allies we call "The Pack" back in Two. They usually include tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4.

District 1 looks strong as well this year, the girl is a volunteer, and looks very tough, scary even. Definitely don't want her trying to kill her. I need her as an ally too, I suppose.

The boy is younger, but is definitely handsome and strong. He looks alright too. I murmur this to Davnia.

District 3 looks pathetic. I can't wait to get my weapons on them.

District 4 looks alright, the girl I want as an ally, the boy doesn't look like he'll make it far.

After that, only a few ones stick out in my mind. A tough-looking girl from 5 with pale brown eyes. A huge boy from 6. A drop-dead beautiful girl from 8. A girl-looking-boy from 9. A scarily pale-eyed and pale-skinned boy from 12.

They all have one thing in common, as I notice with a grin. They are all my enemies.

_**Kingsley "King" Johannsen, 18, District 1**_

Me and my mentor had stayed up all night planning. It was nearly morning when I groggily went to my bedroom. But even still, the room drew a gasp from me when I saw it. The bed was enormous, and I could bury myself in covers and pillows. It was complete with a canopy, too. The window took up the whole wall, and lying in bed, I could face the city. They were freakishly clean, and with a remote I could use from across the room I could zoom in on different parts of the city.

Little electronic gadgets were arranged around the walls as well. Each had a simple silver plaque describing them. One was a mouthpiece that could order food, another was a full-body massage. All of these luxuries came with a click of a button. I had it nice at home, but all along the Capitol had more than I could ever imagine.

It took me a while to fall asleep, I knew I'd be a wreck at training. _But it was worth it, _I observe while eating steaming rice and chicken. I grin. _This is my kind of place. _

_**Crimson Ashbrie, 18, District 1**_

My stylist put me in a plain blue shirt and black jeans. I felt comfortable in them, and for the first time since I had arrived in the Capitol, I felt _normal._

I met Kingsley by the crystal elevator at ten, just as I was instructed by my stupid escort, Feia Cord. He's dressed in plain clothes too, black jeans and a white shirt. He looks like a mess, but I just snort at the circles under his eyes. Probably crying all night for his pathetic family.

But we give each other curt nods. We're allies. For now.

The elevator shoots us down underneath the training center at an incredibly fast speed. The outside world seems colorful but blurred, and it quickly turns to black as we go underneath the foundation.

We exit into an enormous gymnasium, complete with platforms covered in purple-robed Gamemakers, and of course, all of the helpful training items.

A tall, athletic woman called Althea steps up and gives us a brief and boring introduction. I examine all the other tributes. A few of the Pack are big like me, but everyone else are tiny, and I feel like I could step on them and crush them easily.

Soon Althea is done, and we disperse to train.

I decide to ignore my mentor's instructions of learning things I don't know, and go over to the spears station. I wield the enormous shafts with ease, chucking them at dummies who then crumple to the ground.

Might as well scare my enemies first.

I can feel the stares of many other tributes on my back, some fearful, some envious. I grin wickedly.

As I head over to the knives station, I run into Ashtra Dechare, the District 2 girl.

"Hey," she says gruffly.

"Hi." I mutter.

We examine each other for a moment, and as though _she's _in charge, she makes the offer. "Allies?"

"Whatever." I say, and nearly shoving her aside, I lodge the blade in the dummy's heart.

_**Alquando "Quan" Trenna, 16, District 2**_

Once Althea stops talking, the tributes sprint away, heading for the different stations. I stay put, eyeing the resources I have at my disposal. There's a tree climbing station, knots and ropes, swimming, knives, spears, axes, archery, darts, poison, food, shelter, weather, fires, herbs and medicine, hand to hand fighting, sword wielding, bombs and technology, agility, speed, strength, maces, clubs, flexibility, tridents, guns, fishing, scythes, daggers, and slingshots.

Where to begin? Well, I know almost all of those, and decide with my strength and coordination it would be wise to pick something else up. I head over to the slingshots station, and find the tiny boy from 11 wielding one with ease.

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask casually, in my deep, serene voice.

His tiny dark head looks upward, and I am surprised to be met with intense blue eyes. I would expect childlike innocence from him, but his hard stare projects brutality and darkness. "Quincy." His voice was was incredibly quiet, but steady and calm. It would chill me if I couldn't kill him in hundreds of different ways.

"I'm Quan." I say quietly, impressed with the boy.

"I know." Is all he says before going back to using the weapon.

I think about asking him to be my ally, but the Pack would laugh at me for being so pathetic. I'd better stick to 3finding strong people.

For a moment, I'm furious. What am I thinking? _Allies_? These people are my enemies! Without hesitation, I slingshot a sharp stone into the bullseye of the target at an amazing speed. The rock sticks in the center strongly. I walk by Quincy as I leave. That'll give him something to think about.

_**Mykal Duncan, 14, District 3**_

I feel better out of costume, but I am still uncomfortable in the Capitol. My auburn hair is back in a ponytail, and my scar is hidden behind my comfortable sports shorts.

I am appalled to find that when we stand, gazing up at Althea, most of the other tributes are bigger than me. Everyone, in fact except for the young tributes from 12, the boy from 11, the girl from 12, and the boy from 5. When Althea's done, the tributes all head to the stations quickly, already knowing where to start, and demonstrating advanced skills in each. I stand awkwardly in the middle, not knowing most of the stations, or were to begin with the few that I do.

"Where do you want to go?" a voice sounds behind me. It is warm, slightly loud, but friendly and sweet. My heart flips. In that case, it can only be one other tribute. Keldon Peak.

I turn around to face him. He looks unchanged from the chariot ride and reaping, short brown hair unmoving, skin ashen and pale, and big amber-brown eyes that stare down at me from his tall stance.

I smile back at him shyly. "Wherever you want." My answering of this question was a subtle way of agreeing on our alliance. We weren't supposed to be a team before—not by orders of our mentors, and we never mentioned it even.

He grins at me, and laughs. "Who are we kidding? We had no weapons back in 3. The best you and I can do is trap the others with our brilliance."

"I'm hardly brilliant."

"I think you are."

I am taken aback at his complement, and I'm sure my pale skin turns bright red. He grins at this too.

I recover quickly from his dreamy gaze however, and elbow him in the side. "Come on, we're wasting time. Let's go learn how to use a weapon, shall we?" I cock my head to the archery station.

We walk there, chatting casually, when he takes my hand in his.

The world becomes unneeded and beyond my notice. All I can feel is his warm hand enveloping mine. My mind thinks only one thought. This can't be that bad of a place to die.

_**Nadia Aaryn, 15, District 4**_

I head off to the tridents station after I finish warming up at the speed station. I brush sweat off my forehead and stretch a little. The only people at this station are the instructor and Everett Heathcliffe, my district partner.

He looks like he's been here for a while, and to be honest he doesn't seem to have made any progress. He desperately attempts to launch the trident at the target, but misses every time, barely missing the instructor's side.

"You know, if you want to throw it right, you have to actually aim." I say coldly. He turns around, surprised. I cross my arms, raising my eyebrows.

"I know." He says simply. The words come off his tongue so smoothly that I would have thought he was telling the truth if I hadn't seen him throw.

I grab a large golden one, ignoring the instructor who begins to protest. I step back a few yards, and then with a determined groan I launch it at the target. It slices through the wood loudly, echoing around the gym. I feel envious and awed stares on my back. I grin ambitiously.

I turn around to Everett, who just raises his eyebrows, surprised again. "That's how you throw." I say to him curtly.

I head back to the target to retrieve the trident, and as soon as I hear the hissing noise next to my ear, I react. I dive to the ground, covering my neck. A giant fish hook has hooked through the wooden target. Not in the center like mine, quite far to the outside actually, but amazingly accurate, being a fish hook and being thrown by a weak boy from 20 yards.

I look back at him, impressed this time. I hand him his fish hook, and we nod. Allies.

For now.

**Notes:**

-Sorry for Kingsley's really short and bad POV! I'll do more of him later. :3

-Whew, got the Keldon/Mykal romance started. Forgive me, I don't write romance, I never have, and I am totally going to suck at this. :P

-I always, _always_ feel like I'm writing Nadia wrong. What should I work on, luvfredweasley? x3

-Same goes for Everett. xD Please help me guys.

-ALSO: Keldon was so prominent in Mykal's POV that I decided not to do a POV for him in this chapter. Sorry! Same goes for Everett (again).


	17. Training: Day 2

Training: Day 1: Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4

**Training: Day 2: Districts 5, 6, 7, and 8**

Training: Day 3: Districts 9, 10, 11, and 12

_**Meira Griss, 15, District 5**_

My hands move nervously (or confidently, I can never tell which), as I play with the hem of my back shirt, and stare at the fabric on my jeans. Althea gives another brief introduction and I couldswear her voice has become more dull since our last visit. As soon as she releases us, I gaze upon the stations, trying to remember where I went yesterday. I learned a lot about poison yesterday, and I visited medicine and herbs, and the shelter and knots places. Today**,** I want to focus on the weapons.

My hands itch to use the darts and knives like usual, but I force myself to go to the swords stations. You never know what you could get in that arena.

There are the pathetic brother and sister pair from 10. I feel bad for them, but I can't let that show. I don't talk to people much, and I decide it wouldn't do myself any good to talk to them now.

I saw them at the knives station the other day, and although they aren't the best throwers, they have decent skills with injuring important veins, and killing with precision. I suppose that's what they do back in 10. Kill animals with knives.

But, the moment these two pick up a weapon that's a little longer and heavier, they're lost. I resist laughter as they hack away at two dummies, swords clattering to the ground often.

I grab a long, silver blade that feels balanced in my hand. I walk over to a spare dummy, and think _These aren't too different from knives. _I grin, back up a few paces, and launch the blade into the dummy's neck.

It stays buried there while the brother and sisterstare up at it, openmouthed. I raise my eyebrows at them, as if saying, _You'd better practice a little more. _Before I do something stupid like apologizing and feeling sympathy, I stride away, my hands fidgeting once more.

_**Ajay Nevelen, 14, District 5**_

I walk over to the knots station, finding the instructor soundasleep. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, waking for him to get up. Then I prod him with my foot. He jumps to life, looking up at me with accusation in his eyes. He's about to say something when a delighted grin crosses his face.

"Don't get many visitors, huh?" I ask, reaching for a length of rope at my side.

He rolls his eyes. "Tell me about it." He shakes my hand. "And who might you be?"

"Ajay Nevelen. District Five."

"I don't remember you…" the man mutters, scratching his head. Then he jumps up as though he had been shocked by electricity. "Anyway! Let's get these ropes made into something marvelous! Where do ya wanna start?"

"I dunno… snares, maybe?"

He sits down and slowly begins to teach me how to do a few basic snares. After about my hour, my fingers were sore, but the robotic mice got caught every time. Eventually, he taught me how to do a twitch-up snare, something slightly more complicated, but left the prey dangling from the ground, above predators. This took me a while, and my fingers bled, but I knew this was worth it. Food was incredibly important in that arena.

Eventually, the pair from 3 come and join me. They learn together, nodding, smiling, laughing, and they look like a team. I feel sad as I walk away, knowing I'll never get to be a part of any team.

_**Jade Cox, 12, District 6**_

"And as another reminder…no hurting other tributes before the start of the Games. You may disperse!" Althea's voice is bland but strong. She is probably the only person in the Capitol who gives a crap about exercising. The rest are so fat and useless.

I stand still while the other tributes mill around me. Some shoulders bump into me, reminding me of my tiny stature and insignificance. A few give me sympathetic glances. My cheeks burn, angry all the sudden. Just because I'm young and small doesn't make me any less of a threat!

If only I could show them what I can do with poison darts. But my mentor made me promise to hide that until my private session with the Gamemakers. I could hit every target in this place from the other side of the room. I knew I was poor; I practiced, knowing my name would get reaped. And so it did. If only I was a little older…I'd have more of a chance.

"Don't give up," I whisper to myself, rearranging my features into a placid mask.

I tick off on my fingers what I've done so far. Climbing, agility, plants and medicine, and knives. Knives weren't too different from darts, but I never did hit the target.

I decide to head to archery. Something deep in my gut tugs me toward it. I need to look somewhat competent with weapons. It can't be too hard, right?

Wrong.

"I know you're small, but pull back on the bowstring more," says the Capitol instructor, bored with my incompetence. I'm tired with it too, to be honest.

I glare determinedly at the target, notch the arrow, and pull on the bowstring with all my might. I inhale sharply, then release my breath along with the arrow.

At an amazing speed it rockets right to the center of the target. Where it sticks firmly, far from the other badly shot arrows far on the edges.

The District One girl comes over, grinning wickedly. The corners of her mouth stop moving when she sees my startled expression and arrow, me still frozen, facing the target.

I realize all the sudden that she is right behind me, breathing on my neck. I slowly, stiffly, and completely terrified, I turn around to face her twisted gaze.

"You'll be first." She whispers close to my ear.

_**Sleighter Texlin, 18, District 6**_

I stride away from the podium where Althea still stands, unmoving. I close my eyes, grinning, and select a random deadly weapon. Alright then. Maces it is.

My wicked grin stays on as I walk confidently to the station, hoping my cool walk works, and doesn't look dorky. I ignore the instructor, pick up the biggest mace he has, and chuck it at the dummy fifteen yards in front of me.

Oh yes. I feel the shocked stares of little bug-eyed tributes on my back. Oh wait, that's everyone. Well, except the Careers. That reminds me.

I know she's there before I calmly whip my body around to face her. I extend a hand. "Sleighter Texlin. District Six."

Wow. She's pretty. It was hard to tell on the recaps. Her dark auburn hair hangs over her left shoulder, with a faded black streak through the middle. Her bright green eyes are narrowed, determined and furious. She is muscular, strong. Perfect for an ally. And as a girlfriend. But I decide not to think that way, for now.

"Ashtra Dechare. Two." Her hand is cold, grip strong. Her voice is slippery, dangerous. I try not to be intimidated by her. She is a girl, after all.

"Allies?" I inquire.

She almost laughs. "Right. Me, with one from Six."

"You're already with the Careers. You've almost extended the offer to the weakling boy from Four. And plus, you've seen what I can do. Do you really care what the others think?" I challenge.

She clenches her jaw, and gives me a once-over. Twice over. "Fine." She nearly spits out. She turns away. "But you'll be dead as soon as the real fun starts."

_**Zimozielony "Z" Drewno, 14, District 7**_

My fingers find themselves tucked under my leather belt, hanging casually. I find myself gazing at the charm bracelet my parents gave me as my token. A tree, for our district, a cat, the symbol of my mother, and the moon, a symbol of my father. It means so much to me. I'm glad I have it now, or else I'd lose it.

I take a deep breath and head to archery. It's the only weapon I can really manage, and my mentor tells me to intimidate my opponents a little before the arena. My only real strengths are being fast in the trees, my strength, and my edge from surviving in poverty all these years.

I find the little girl from Six there, looking shaken. "You okay?" I ask gruffly, before deciding what tone to use with her. I wince at her startled expression.

"I-I'm fine." She says, and seems to shake off whatever was bothering her. "You like archery too?" she nods at the target. I notice an arrow in the bullseye.

"You did that?" I say, surprised, nodding at the arrow. This little girl, with flimsy arms and tiny stature couldn't have gotten such a perfect shot.

She smiles shyly, and nods.

I am shocked at first, but then slowly turn my features into a grin that used to come so easily. "Allies?" I extend my hand.

She smiles and takes it. "Sure."

_**Forrest Asher, 15, District 7**_

I finger the cube that I take from my pocket. Beautifully carved, wooden. A pine tree on one side, my symbol, a fox, symbolizing my sister, rain for my mother, an axe for my father, and bread for the unborn child that killed my mother.

I sigh. My father was an amazing carver. If only he was still alive. But then again if he was, he'd see my death in a bloody arena.

I put it back in, and focus on the station that my feet brought me to semiconsciously. Clubs. Figures.

No one else is here, which is fine by me. They don't need to see me fail at combat weapons. I go to the rack and select a large wooden club with some spikes at the end. I practice without it at first, per the instructions printed on a poster on the wall next to the rack. I swing my imaginary club into the head of the dummy, focusing on my breathing, the next time on my technique. After a few minutes, I head back to the rack, but instead I find Crimson, District One girl standing there. She's laughing. "Remember what a _club_ is, Seven?"

I control my anger and say as calmly as possible, "I-I was practicing my t-technique."

She makes a mocking sad face. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I-it's a speech problem." I say, glaring now, tone terse and even.

She grins. "I don't care. When I ask you a taunting question, either say something funny so that I can laugh, or just shut up and cry. Both are good options."

I cross my arms over my chest and glare. "M-make me."

She laughs. "Right. If only you didn't have that s-speech t-thing."

All the sudden, a muscular, male angel comes and saves me. He puts his heavy hand on Crimson's shoulder. "That's enough taunting, Crimson. We have work to do. This is the last day of free training, remember?"

She sighs and glares at him, her district partner, King. "Yeah, yeah. Stop touching me. Let's go to climbing or something stupid."

King quickly takes his hand off her, as though she's a poisonous snake (which she very well is), and they walk away. She turns her head back at me though, giving me the eyes-on-you symbol.

I simply blink, and turn back to the clubs station, using my anger at Crimson and myself to bury the spikes into the dummy's head.

_**Annabelle Crest, 15, District 8**_

I wish I could use weapons. I gaze sadly at those stations from the swimming station. I'm no good at swimming either, that's why I need to practice. District Eight had nothing but bleak cities and factories for the fabric we made. No room for nature. Or pools.

I sigh, self-conscious about coming out of the changing room in a swimsuit, but I know that I need to be ready for anything in the arena.

I think bitterly about the swimsuit again, though. People look at me enough, without anything that exposing on. Sometimes, it's not fun to have golden-blond hair, a pixie nose, and seductive lips. Not to mention porcelain skin and sky-blue eyes. Even though I am poor, I barely get skinny. Thin yes, but not skinny.

I sigh again, but shrug this time. Who cares? I need to practice now.

I emerge from the room in the tight blue suit, and find the tributes all across the gymnasium staring. I grab a towel and use it to hide behind until I slide into the pool, putting on the dorky flotation device.

The instructor, luckily, is a girl.

"Good." She says. "It's supposed to be cold, but it's not like we can expect what kind of water your arena will have. So, begin with freestyle. It's the simplest stroke, and probably the only one you need to know." She launches into how I do it, and I furrow my brow, determined.

She is surprised at how quick I master it. I remove the safety-belt and try again. I feel like a drowning animal, but I muster up my courage and continue across the small lap pool. "Nice!" she says, her words distorted by the water in my ear.

I get out of the pool, drying off, shocked. I just conquered something that seemed hard and terrifying, but wasn't, in just an hour. How hard can these Games be?

_**Flint Mandrake, 15, District 8**_

After staring at Annabelle Crest across the gym for a while, I turn back to the task at hand. Agility.

The instructor is desperately waving at me. "Go!" he calls from the edge of the obstacle course. "It's been open for five minutes!"

All the sudden I feel glares behind me. A line has built up. Whoops. Five minutes, though? I couldn't have been looking at Annabelle for that long…When I think of that name again, I remember her face, then finding my muscles going limp, face calm and content.

Someone from behind me shoves me, and I shake awake from my daydream, and start running top speed through the obstacle course.

**Notes:**

-SO SORRY for not posting in a while, my life has been kind of a mess recently. It'll get better, I promise! :P

-Is anyone still reading? The story was previously deleted, but I brought it back without the interactive content, so I hope that the original readers have found it again. Please review if you have

-Sorry for the short POVs, but I want to get to the Games! After this it'll be just one more day of training, interviews, then the night before the Games. Can't wait!

-Credit to Ashbrie13/EverlastingActress for proofing


	18. Training: Day 3

Training Day 1: Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4

Training Day 2: Districts 5, 6, 7, and 8

**Training Day 3: Districts 9, 10, 11, and 12**

_**Kingsley "King" Johannsen, 18, District 1**_

I am the very first tribute to enter the gym. I face the Gamemakers, pleased to find them sober and alert.

I scan the room with a narrow gaze to find the perfect opponent. My head stops moving as soon as I've located it.

There.

I haul the metal dummy from the target station to my place in front of the Gamemakers with ease. I scowl at them, and then, when they are just about to get bored, I rip the iron head from the metal dummy.

I don't bother to look at their exressions before chucking the 50 pound metal ball at the opposite wall of the gym.

I turn back to them before I can wonder if it hit the wall. A loud _thud_ answers my question. One of the Gamemakers drops his water glass, and it shatters on the ground.

Eventually, one of the purple-robed idiots says, "You may now go, mister Johannsen."

And so I do, a smug expression on my face.

_**Keldon Peak, 14, District 3**_

My hands shake, palms sweating. But my hand never leaves Mykal's. Her expression mirrors mine, scared, but determined.

She's strong. Sometimes, I wonder if she's stronger than me. But I admire it so much. She could win the Games.

But I need to win for my family. I shake away the thoughts. There can only be one victor. Never two. My thoughts are selfish. My family doesn't care for Mykal. Not the way I do. It's better she dies and I live.

No matter how much I love her.

All the sudden I see the District Two girl exit the room, Ashtra, I think, and she is stretching her muscled arms, laughing maniacally. She makes me shudder.

I try to rearrange my nervous features into a reassuring mask for Mykal, but my smile doesn't reach my eyes.

I release her hand, and breathe deeply before entering the room.

The gym seems enormous now, without the instructors and other tributes buzzing about. The emptiness is intimidating, and so is the table of serene looking Gamemakers.

Great. I can't show off with weapons, and survival skills never win many points. Somehow I have to demonstrate my strength.

In a split second my head calculates every way in which I can do this, as any District Three mind would.

I could lift weights, wrestle a dummy to the ground, do push ups or pull ups, lift another heavy object. Weights sound the most rational at this point.

I grab the one of the weights they have, 100 lbs. I grit my teeth, tightening my stomach muscles as I lift it. My fingers feel like they are going to snap, but I know I have to persevere. I lift it above my head, then release it, letting the boom echo around the gym.

They hardly look impressed, and eventually they dismiss me.

I avoid Mykal's gaze as I exit, knowing that I can never muster a convincing smile now, even for someone I love.

_**Everett Heathcliffe, 15, District 4**_

I hate the Gamemakers. Only here to assess us for their own stupid Games, never to give us a good score for a fighting chance.

I should be a Career, being from 4 and all, but I know I'm not that good. Plus, those idiots would just stab me in the back while I sleep.

I grab the only big fish hook in the entire gym, feeling the heavy metal rest in my sweating hand.

I chuck it at the only target I can see from here, the archery one. It sticks in the side. Damn it. My one shot, missed.

Hysterical laughter bubbles inside me. Yes, I like to laugh, but this is ridiculous. I close my eyes, shame clouding my vision.

"You may leave, mister Heathcliffe."

_**Collita "Col" Gra, 16, District 9**_

I stand in front of the Gamemakers, who are in the process of singing some kind of drinking song. My scowl deepens.

I wait for a while, tapping my fingers on the metal rack with scythes on it. My fingers have been itching to use them for the past two days, as I do at home when I cut down the grain, but I've waited. For now.

I clear my throat loudly. The echo bounces off the walls in the room, amplifying the noise.

Nobody looks.

I growl under my breath and find myself wanting to chuck a scythe at them. Watch their blood spill all over that long purple table…

No. I need to control my rage. Or just channel it into my work.

Without caring if the Gamemakers pay attention, I hoist the scythe station dummy into a noose hanging from the ceiling. Perfect.

I grab the most deadly looking scythe, one that looks like two blades have merged together, one half bronze, the other silver. It's edges glint with deadly power, and I breathe, finding the peaceful, murderous part of me that comes out when I use these glorious weapons.

I close my eyes and slash at the dummy, feeling the body fall from the noose, the head still stuck in its tough rope hold. I swing my arms back and hack at the dummy, anger surging through me with every strike. Against the Capitol, against the Games, against the death sentence I have received.

Finally, I stop, exhaling, bringing my hands down, and releasing the weapon.

I open my eyes to see stuffing everywhere, and the Gamemakers looking at me in shock.

_**Kira Howren, 16, District 9**_

We all sit outside the training gym nervously. My heart ticks like a bomb about to explode, palms pouring sweat, eyes darting about the few remaining tributes. The pair from 10 look they want to cry, the kids from 11 look tough and intimidating, and the girl from 12 is already crying. But the creepiest of the tributes, in my opinion is the little boy from 12. Twelve years old, scrawny and tiny, but unnaturally pale and skinny. His jet black hair is spiky, his gray eyes huge, haunting, and vacant. His hands are always fiddling as though he's possessed.

It terrifies me.

I shrug it off, and realize I've been holding my breath for quite a while as I turn back to face the doors.

I go back to wiping my hands on my jeans.

Finally, my district partner, Col Gra emerges. I realize his stylist may have not been happy with the complaints from the Capitol, so his ponytail's been chopped off, and his red hair is now short and spiky.

He looks furious.

He goes up the elevator without a second glance.

I start to panic.

_Breathe, Kira. _I look at the back of my district token, a coin with words from my parents. _Don't underestimate yourself. Take risks. Be brave, _it says on the different sides. I nod. Brave. I have to be brave. It's what my family would want.

I enter the room, and stare at the table of bored purple-robed Gamemakers. One of them (definitely drunk) points at me and babbles something. One or two other look at me for a moment.

Here it goes.

All the sudden I realize there is nothing for me to show them. I am weak and bad with weapons, and all of my focus has been on survival skills so that I wouldn't need to go into combat.

My hands start to move against each other in a rapid, uneven way, and my breathing gets harder and faster.

I have to do _something_. I grab a length of rope and quickly twist it into a twitch up snare.

I hang it up from a low-hanging wire, staring at them.

Well, they clearly have no idea what a twitch-up snare is, so they point and laugh at it.

"You may go, miss Howren."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I sprint from the room and up the elevator before I start to cry.

_**Jaryn Mine, 13, District 10**_

I hug Azalea when Kira exits the gym. My sister stiffens at my touch, but then relaxes and hugs me back.

"You go kick some butt, Jaryn."

Tears gather at the edge of my vision as she says this, but I breathe deeply and blink them back as I step into the gym.

I feel tiny against this enormous background, but force myself to relax. _Remember what Azalea and you planned. _I think, _I do knives, she does ropes. You got this. How different are cattle and humans, really?_

I grab the sword-fighting dummy with all the labels for human markings, and stab the knives in at all the fatal veins, arteries, and organs.

I step back and admire my work, the hilts of the knives forming an almost artistic array.

"You may go, mister Mine." Says the Head Gamemaker, bored.

I exit, and I finally exhale.

_**Azalea Mine, 16, District 10**_

Jaryn only gives me a terse nod before disappearing into the elevator. I walk calmly inside, and without looking at the Gamemakers or anything that will disrupt my focus or scare me, I get a length of rope.

I begin to artfully bend it, cutting it with a throwing knife when needed. On the low wire at the knots station, I hang my traps and creations. A noose, a restraining knot, a livestock knot, a basic snare, twitch-up snare, and a trap that leaves opponents dangling upside down. I demonstrate each with the dummy.

As I turn back to the Gamemakers I see one of them snoring in a puddle of drool and wine, others dancing around idiotically, and only the Head staring at me. His gaze bores into me from behind eerie shades, and he finally says. "You are dismissed."

_**Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale, 12, District 11**_

I balance the wooden slingshot in my hand, and I aim it right next to the Gamemakers table. The sharp rock zips from the rubber band and buries itself in the plastic and cement wall, with little to no sound at all.

The Gamemakers look at me, displeased. I give them my scariest stare, examining them. They all look like typical Capitol idiots, except for the Head. He has no alterations, and it's hard to see any of him behind his thick purple robe and his square, dangerous shades. I can almost see dark fire burning from his eyes behind the shades.

He is a murderer. "You may go, Quincy." He tells me, with no air of drunkenness to his voice.

Soon I will be a murderer. I will be like him.

_**Karina Towhee, 17, District 11**_

I twist my long red hair up into a knot, trying to keep my nervous energy from showing. I try to keep my green eyes looking icy and dangerous, and hope my glare convinces everyone to stay away from me.

But I think my scars and muscles and the hatred from my eyes do that already.

Finally my district partner exits the gym, emotionless. He is dark and small, like a blackbird. But his eyes are terrifying, electric blue, and they stand out against his skin.

I blink, and he is gone. All that remains is this next stage, facing the Gamemakers. And that is what I will do.

I throw open the door and storm inside, glaring at the Gamemakers. Drunk as they come. I am about to die at age 17 and they don't even have the decency to pay attention.

That is a mistake.

I grab the twisted golden dagger I've had my eyes on for days. The edges are thin and razor sharp. Perfect.

In a split second my hands have formed a noose from rope, and I hang the dagger station's dummy up on the wire above me. I leap up, and the world slows down. I am so high off the ground now, and I ready the dagger. Before my feet touch the ground again, the blade is lodged in the dummy's heart.

The edge of the dagger emerges from the other side, glinting in the yellow light, a reminder of my strength. These Games are mine.

_**Rymet Flightmaple, 12, District 12**_

My wide eyes eat up the room where Em and I sit. She sits far from me, giving me a nervous glance every once in a while.

I just blink, and I breathe. My knees are tucked in front of my chest, and I hug them with my arms, fingers twitching violently.

Eventually, Karina Towhee exits the gym, looking almost evil.

I simply stand and walk into the gym, blinking at the bright lights.

Without even acgknowledging the Gamemakers, I walk quickly and confidently to the daggers station.

Usually the short, heavy blades aren't meant for throwing, but I don't give a crap. I get a small jug of toxin, and set out the daggers in an arranged way on the table. One by one, I dip the tips in the toxin.

And then, in order to give the Gamemakers a delicious surprise, I fiddle with my hands until my wrist gives a tiny flick and the dagger penetrates the wooden board on the other side of the room. One by one the rest fly towards it. In less then five seconds, there are no knives on the table, and there are seventeen hilts protruding from the board.

In the shape of a smiley face.

**Notes:**

-I did King, Keldon, and Everett because I feel that they didn't have much spotlight before :3 Hope that's okay.

-Sorry, that was long! Oh well, now it's just the interviews :)

-Oh, and Ashy, sorry that I didn't do Em's POV, but I didn't have enough brainspace xD


	19. Training Scores

**Training Scores**

Sorry, but I couldn't write each reaction. Here it goes.

_Name (Age, District) Score_

**Crimson Ashbrie **(18, District One) 11

**Kingsley "King" Johannsen **(18, District One) 10

**Ashtra Dechare **(17, District Two) 9

**Alquando "Quan" Trenna **(16, District Two), 9

**Mykal Duncan **(14, District Three) 7

**Keldon Peak **(14, District Three) 6

**Nadia Aaryn **(15, District Four) 8

**Everett Heathcliffe **(15, District Four) 5

**Meira Griss **(15, District Five), 11

**Ajay Nevelen **(14, District Five) 2

**Jade Cox **(12, District Six) 9

**Sleighter Texlin **(18, District Six) 10

**Zimozielony "Z" Drewno **(14, District Seven) 7

**Forrest Asher **(15, District Seven) 8

**Annabelle Crest **(15, District Eight) 4

**Flint Mandrake **(15, District Eight) 4

**Kira Howren **(16, District Nine) 4

**Collita "Col" Gra **(16, District Nine) 9

**Azalea Mine **(16, District Ten) 6

**Jaryn Mine **(13, District Ten) 6

**Karina Towhee **(17, District Eleven) 9

**Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale **(12, District Eleven) 5

**Em Kingston **(13, District Twelve) 3

**Rymet Flightmaple **(12, District Twelve) 10


	20. Interviews: Part 1

**Interviews Part One**

_**Crimson Ashbrie, 18, District 1**_

I grin as the audience whoops and cheers once my name's been called. Caesar Flickerman, the ancient interview host for the Hunger Games, called me "spunky" and "dangerous". I like it.

My black heels are tall, but I manage, and stride up to Caesar's chair confidently, making it look easy. Luckily my stylists didn't put me in anything too feminine, just an elegant black dress. But the makeup makes me look dark and deadly.

I love it.

I focus on one of his wrinkles as we begin. This year he's selected the color aqua, which makes him look striking, and well, kind of freaky. I guess they have some kind of age enhancement system in the Capitol, cuz he'd be dead back in One.

"So, Crimson. An 11! How about that. What would you say your greatest strengths are?"

The answer slides off my tongue easily. "I'm strong, good with weapons. I'm persistent, and I'm not afraid of killing…or much of anything." This gets a laugh. My face turns more serious. "But the most important thing, Caesar, is that I _never_ go down without a fight."

_**Kingsley "King" Johannsen, 18, District 1**_

The audience applauds long after Crimson sits down. Her face has already twisted back into her usual malicious grin. I wonder how she pulls it off.

I remember what my mentor said, though. Be nice, charming. I brush my hands off on my white suit as Caesar introduces me. "And now… for the handsome, strong, Kingsley Johannsen!"

I stand, putting on a casual grin. The woman swoon. Capitol idiots. So stupid it's almost funny.

I sit down next to Caesar. "So, another ten. Impressive, I must say. What are some cool talents that you have, Kingsley?"

"Call me King," I say charmingly, for the crowd. "I'm good with most weapons, I know about survival and medicine, and I know 127 different ways to kill a man with my bare hands."

The crowd screams for me.

"Now. I hear that you are the son of the victor, Miss Veronica Johannsen! Let's hear it for the victor of the 78th Hunger Games!"

The crowd cheers, but I hope they can't see my pain at the mention of my family. Bridget will be seeing these whole Games. I need to be brave. For her.

_**Ashtra Dechare, 17, District 2**_

"…Ashtra Dechare!" Caesar finishes his introduction with a flourish. I grin cockily and walk onto the stage in my simple black sandals and black dress, like Crimson's. My auburn hair is down in ringlets over my back, and my black streak is dark and thick, like it should be.

"So, Ashtra, do you think you think you could win these Games?"

I grin, and then throw my head back and laugh. "Win, Caesar? I can do more than just _win. _I will not only win, but I will crush anyone who gets in my way."

_**Alquando "Quan" Trenna, 16, District 2**_

"And now, for the incredibly handsome, young, and promising…Alquando Trenna!" I keep my face serious and solemn as I walk onto the stage in my simple black tuxedo.

Everyone seems to be holding their breath. I wonder why.

I hear a few girlish screams. Wonder what that's about. Maybe they saw a mouse. But no, this is the Capitol. Nothing normal exists here.

"So, Quan." Caesar eyes me. "You're not the smiling type, are you?" Slight laughter from the audience.

"No, not really." I say placidly. "What's the point? It takes seventeen muscles to smile. I don't need to strain them to pretend happiness."

Caesar frowns. "You aren't happy in the Capitol?"

_Calm down, Quan. You can't say it. Not now. Not ever. _My inner voice screams at me. But I hardly listen to my inner voice.

"Why should I be happy, Caesar? I am about to die."

_**Mykal Duncan, 14, District 3**_

I look at Keldon to my left shyly, sweaty palms rubbing my black dress. "Nervous?" he mouths to me.

I nod. He squeezes my hand. "We're a team." He mouths back. I grin. Yes, a team. I like that. And I know I can trust him for the arena. Always good to have someone watching your back.

"Now for your young District 3 girl… Mykal Duncan!" Caesar Flickerman. As I walk on the stage, legs shaking, I wonder if his voice ever goes out from overuse.

"So, Mykal." He says. "Here we are at last. In front of the entire country, just you and me. How does it feel, being in the Capitol?"

"Well…it's different." I stammer nervously. Where is that perky part of me when I need it? I grin charmingly. "The food's prime." The audience laughs. "The people have been really nice, and it's amazing to be in a place with such cool technology."

Caesar nods. "District Three, through and through." I smile shyly, the audience laughs more.

He finally says, "Mykal? What is your worst fear?"

My face turns ashen, all the sudden serious. "I don't want to become something I'm not. And I am _not_ a killer."

_**Keldon Peak, 14, District 3**_

I squeeze Mykal's hand as she passes me, heading back to her chair. I sit down beside Caesar in the uncomfortable and unnervingly warm white leather seat. "So, Keldon, I just asked this to your district partner…but it's a very important question." Caesar states dramatically, leaning forward in his seat. "What's your greatest fear?"

I gulp, letting my face redden, adam's apple bobbing up and down. In my peripheral vision I can see Mykal clenching the edge of her chair, awaiting my response to the question.

I don't want to lose Mykal in that arena. I've had a crush on her for four years, and I am not gonna let some insane murderous teen kill her. But I can't die in vain, not the way my brother did in these Games. But I don't want Caylah to get reaped either…

"Keldon? You still in there?" Caesar jokes.

I look back up at him, face pale, eyes wide. "I don't want to lose the people I love." I say simply.

_**Nadia Aaryn, 15, District 4**_

I wish I had some kind of strategy for my interview. But my mentor and I agreed that I'm fairly good at winging it. So here goes nothing.

My stylist has managed to make me look beautiful. My sea green dress brings out the bright and deep blues in my eyes, and my bronze skin radiates with life, black hair spiked up in a rebellious and awesome way. Minimal makeup so I look powerful…but me.

I narrow my eyes as I sit next to Caesar. I didn't like him. Too perky. You won't catch me being that ridiculous any day.

"So, Nadia, why do you think people should sponsor you?"

I grin viciously and say matter-of-factly, "Because I'm strong. Not in the beat-em-up kind of way, but in the dangerous way. You don't want to mess with me, Caesar, because you'll end up dead."

_**Everett Heathcliffe, 15, District 4**_

I admire my ally wholeheartedly as she steps off the stage. I heard that the Careers asked for her, but she declined, and accepted my offer instead. It feels pretty cool to know that, but I can't help feeling she'll stab me in the back if I make a wrong move.

"So, Everett." Says Caesar, eyeing me suspiciously. I shrink down a little into my dark blue suit, not enjoying the stares and attention from all these people. "I find this question to be very interesting, as I've asked it twice already. What's your biggest fear?"

I scan my mind for all the things I can say. Darkness, failure, small, enclosed spaces. But I can't. I can never tell the truth. Lying is easier than being honest, so a random answer spews from my mouth. "Dying."

Caesar laughs. "I don't know if that'll do you much good in the arena. So, a Capitol-kind of question now. If you could, what would you change about yourself?"

Wow. Here it comes. Honesty is the only thing my mind can think of right now. I'm about to tell the whole country my weakness. But I do wish I could change it, I'll never have many friends if I can't get through my compulsive lying.

"I'm a compulsive liar." I say, words sounding awkward coming from my mouth. "It is my biggest flaw."

_**Meira Griss, 15, District 5**_

My hands fiddle along the hem of my dress, black with silver seams. Compliments my pale eyes, the stylist told me. As if I care.

Wow, that Everett kid is an idiot. He just admitted to the whole country what his biggest flaw is. I examine his ally, Nadia Aaryn with narrow eyes. She doesn't seem fazed in the least. I wish I could muster that confidance. But then again, she's like the other Careers, cocky. I don't like cocky people.

And then Caesar calls my name. It's my time to shine. Joy.

My steps are quick, quiet and poised as I sit in the white leather chair to the left of Caesar.

"So, Meira. An 11! Wow, I can only wonder what you could have done. This is a Hunger Games first actually, but unfortunately you've tied with Crimson Ashbrie, from District 1. So, I'll ask you the same question I asked her. What would you consider to be your biggest strengths?"

_Lie. _The voice inside my head screeches at me. _LIE!_ No, I won't tell them the way I plan to kill. That will stay between me and the Gamemakers. I'll say random facts that anyone with my score could say about themselves.

"I am quick and smart. And if they can't get me, they can't hurt me." I stare right into the camera. I have a message for my father, this time. "No one can hurt me anymore."

_**Ajay Nevelen, 14, District 5**_

"So, Ajay. A 2." He winces. "Well, that's not the best score of the bunch. Would you say that the Gamemakers underestimate you?"

"Well…" the words tumble out of my mouth nervously. "I-I don't know. I'm just a boy who doesn't want to die. I don't have special skills like the others. I was never prepared for this. But I'm not stupid. Not the way everyone thinks I am. I don't think I'm amazing, but to give myself credit, the Gamemakers shouldn't count me out just yet."

_**Jade Cox, 12, District 6**_

The audience oohs and aahs when I walk onto the stage. My stylist worked magic on me. I'm in a white dress entirely made of diamonds, that matches my district token, a wild flower that is perched behind my ear. "Jade." Says Caesar finally, when I sit down. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." I respond, smiling. Win the crowd in whatever way you can, my mentor had said.

"So. A 9. That's incredible for someone so small! Would you consider yourself also underestimated?"

"Oh yes, of course. Everyone assumes that because I'm 12, or I'm a girl, I don't even have a fighting chance. But I would like to send a message to anyone who thinks that." I glare right into the camera. "I am strong. And I don't need anyone else to fight my battles for me."

_**Sleighter Texlin, 18, District 6**_

I grin cockily as I get onto the stage in my simple tuxedo. The Capitol people cheer loudly, stomping their feets. I wink at a random person in the crowd. She faints and falls to the floor. I try not to laugh.

I fall into the seat casually next to Caesar. "How about I ask you the questions, and you answer?" I say in a winning style. "It'd be fun. Interviewing the interviewer." The crowd laughs.

Caesar does too. "Alright then. Shoot, Sleighter."

"Let's begin with an embarrassing one." Words rush out of my mouth before I think about saying them. "How old are you?"

The crowd oohs, knowing it's a sensitive subject.

Caesar laughs. "I am 75 years old. Alright, alright." He says to the crowd who scream for them. "Now I get to ask you a question, Sleighter." His eyes pierce mine, glinting with pleasure in almost an intimidating way. "How much do you want to have the crown of the victor?"

I laugh. "Oh, Caesar." My eyes turn dangerous, grin turning into a wicked, twisted smile. "I would kill for it."

**Notes:**

-Wow. That took forever xD The next round of POVs might be shorter.

-One more chapter till the Games! Can't wait!

And okay, here are the alliances so far:

_Careers: _Crimson Ashbrie, Kingsley "King" Johannsen, Ashtra Dechare, Alquando "Quan" Trenna , Sleighter Texlin

_Others:_

Mykal Duncan/Keldon Peak, Nadia Aaryn/Everett Heathcliffe, Zimozielony "Z" Drewno/Jade Cox, Azalea Mine/Jaryn Mine

* * *

**HELP!** I still don't have an arena yet. Please submit as many ideas as you have. Does a graveyard/forest sound cool? And how would I blend the two?


	21. Interviews: Part 2

**Interviews Part Two**

_**Zimozielony "Z" Drewno, 14, District 7**_

I feel the other tributes (especially the girls') gazes cling to me as I sit down in the small chair behind the stage. I find a wicked grin on my face. _Yes, I'm wearing pants, _the grin says, _Deal with it_.

My straight black hair is done in the nicest braid my stylist could manage without me biting her, my jeans are clean and a little elegant, and the green shirt is a little too flowy and silk for my taste, but at least it covers me up unlike the District 8 girl's dress. Ew… I wonder how girls could stand being like that all the time.

I see all of the other tributes go up in front of me, and feel a little downhearted at how well they full it off. The Careers are deadly killing machines, District 3 is smart, District Four charming and courageous, District 5 clever and cunning, District 6 interesting and diverse. And Caesar, aqua wig and all, calls my name, just as charmingly as the rest.

I wipe my palms on my jeans, steadying my breathing. Time to go.

I remember what my mentor said: I'm devious and witty, I can pull this off if I just be myself.

The first few questions are a blur. I answer honestly, and even get a few laughs. And finally, Caesar grins at me and says, "Well, we already discussed your score, but I see lots of potential in you as a tribute. In your personal opinion, how do you think your chances are in the arena?"

I sigh, thinking of the most honest answer I can summon in the midst of my fear. "Don't count me out, Caesar, because I _never_ give up."

_**Forrest Asher, 15, District 7**_

Z gets applause long after she's seated. I find myself staring at her in awe, at her courage and rebelliousness. Even wearing pants for the interviews, which seems like nothing, just reeks of it. I admire her for that.

I wish, for a moment, that we could be allies.

But I shake the thought away quickly. I couldn't kill someone from my district. Not someone as similar to me as her.

And then my name is called. My feet shuffle to the podium, the suit making me look charming, I assume, but must seem unbalanced with the black leather glove on my left hand. There is no way I am letting the Capitol see what their bloody lumber machines have done to me. It is my problem to deal with, not theirs.

Caesar shakes my hand awkwardly, but doesn't question the glove. I mentally praise him for this level of respect. I never expected it from a Capitol citizen.

"So, Forrest, although I do tend to repeat questions, I've always liked this one." He pretends to read it off a blank slip of paper from his sleeve, making the audience laugh. He even overpronounces the syllables, even though I know he's asked it before. "What is your worst fear?"

No. I need to be normal. The Capitol has no room for weird, odd, _exceptions_ like me. I gulp, and let the stutter in my voice show, knowing I have no other option.

"I-I'm afraid to be beaten."

"Could you elaborate?"

"I-I won't be weak. I _can't_ b-be weak." The words come out strangled and hoarse, and I take a deep breath, forcing the stutter from my voice. "I am afraid of having my weaknesses control me and force me to do the bidding of others." My eyes narrow, and I stare directly at the cameras. I give up the good guy act, knowing that I need to show them that I am not afraid. "I am afraid of being controlled. But don't worry, I don't plan for that to happen. Not in _these_ Games."

_**Annabelle Crest, 15, District 8**_

People were a bit intimidated with Forrest's odd change of tone, so the applause is light and concerned. And then it is my turn.

I hear the audience take a big breath in as I delicately step onto the stage. My dress is a bit revealing, but it feels heavy, and pulls me down, as it is made purely of bits of crystal that reflect in the bright lights. My high heels are also crystal, and I try not to wobble as I make my way over to the white leather chair.

I cross my leg over, like my mentor taught me too. I can win this crowd.

"Wow." Caesar says, looking me over. "May I just say, you look wonderful!"

Huge applause from the crowd. My cheeks redden a little bit at the amount of attention and spotlight that is being cast on me…literally.

He finally draws his eyes away from me, and clears his throat, regaining himself. I smile sweetly, causing tons more applause. "So, Annabelle…A four. Not the best training score out there, would you say? Do you have confidence for the upcoming Games?"

My smile becomes smaller, shier. More applause. I feel threatened with the difficulty of the question, but I know it's not his fault, and that he does try to help the tributes. "Well, Caesar, I can't give much away, but the four wasn't necessarily my fault. My skill set is different than using weapons, I am fast, and I know how to survive."

Lots of applause this time. I didn't expect this for such a terrible answer. Sometimes I wish I weren't so pretty… then people could be honest with me. And not just applaud after I do the littlest thing.

Caesar nods. "And, Annabelle, before you go…good luck."

I smile again. "I think I'll need it."

_**Flint Mandrake, 15, District 8**_

All the male tributes stare at Annabelle with awe as she steps off stage. Her dress brushes me a little as I go by to sit by Caesar, and I shudder a little. Hopefully the cameras didn't catch it.

The interview is quick and short, and I was so nervous, I could barely hear what Caesar said until the last question.

"So, Flint…do you think you have a chance to win these Games?"

I gulp back a pessimistic answer, or a sob, or both. Instead, I try to remain upbeat and positive, like I have been previously in the interview. So I say, "I'll do my best, Caesar."

_**Kira Howren, 16, District 9**_

Flint didn't make much of an impression, and I barely notice him on my way up. My eyes must seem bright and swimming with fear, as my silvery dress compliments them, but people applaud at my entrance anyway, although I must look like an elegant, lost sheep.

"Welcome, Kira. You look lovely." He doesn't say it with the drool on his lips like he said to Annabelle, but the small compliment makes me feel a little better.

"So. Another four. From what the Gamemakers tell me, you're very smart, so I know you have something to offer to this question… what is your greatest strength?"

I feel my mentor's deep blue gaze gouging into my own from somewhere in the stands. This is the question that will determine my sponsors. I need to be brave, defiant. Strong. If only I weren't so nervous…

My answer comes out like a murmur at first. I clear my throat and repeat it. "I don't care if people think I'm weak. I know that being clever is much more important than strength alone. I am not going down without a fight."

_**Collita "Col" Gra, 16, District 9**_

The white leather seat feels weirdly comfortable, but different than the rough wooden ones I've grown accustomed to in my upbringing in District Nine.

Caesar faces me, and with the aqua paint around his eyes and his wig, he appears to be crying and very pale.

"So, Col. A nine. Very nicely done, I must say."

"Thank you." My voice is softer than I expected. Good. They need a sweet boy who is looking out for their brother. My score should be enough to prove to them that I am strong, but in order to move the Capitol citizens, you use emotion.

"So," says Caesar, quietly. "We're all dying to ask… when you volunteered for your brother… what was going through your mind?"

I avert my gaze for a moment before replying. I don't need to pretend to have emotion. I do…I do.

"My brother's name is Ordi. He's 12, and he means the world to me."

Silence. Good.

"I couldn't bear the thought of being without him, but mostly him having to suffer, having to fight for the very will to be alive." I pause. More silence. I am defying the Capitol in this very speech, but I do not care. "I did what I had to do, Caesar." I look away. "And that is it."

_**Azalea Mine, 16, District 10**_

We are all struck by Col's deep speech, and the applause lasts long after he is seated, his green eyes fixated at a point on the floor.

It is my turn to step up. My stylists didn't do a terrible job—my dress is a deep silver that compliments my dark brown eyes and curly hair, and goes down to my ankles.

I know what he will ask me. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. _I bite the inside of my cheek hard until I taste metallic blood, and I look straight into his dark eyes, and answer the question that he just asked.

"I love my brother, Caesar. Not even the Games could change that. And I don't care how it's done, we'll both come out of that arena alive."

_**Karina Towhee, 17, District 11**_

My dark green dress isn't as terrible as I thought it'd be. My menacing scowl made my stylist scared enough that she made it short, at knee-length, like my shorts from home. Home. I can nearly picture the large farms, incredibly vast seas of familiar faces… but then come my parents. No, I do not miss them.

I stare at the little boy coming off stage, Jaryn Mine, in a miniature suit, tears coming from his eyes as much as he tries to prevent them. I try to find sympathy inside me for the poor boy, but I suppress the urge and glare at the ground as I walk. You cannot win the Hunger Games with sympathy.

And then there's Caesar, aqua wig, freaky makeup and all, beaming at me. "Karina, you look lovely."

_Be charming_, my mentor told me.

No way in hell.

I glare at him, sizing him up. "Well, I look better than you."

He pretends to wince dramatically and be offended. Oh god, they think I'm joking. Well, the joke's on them.

The audience stops laughing, and Caesar continues. I answer the questions in my usual, blunt manner, but quietly, unsurely. I take more rebellious digs at him, hidden behind casual subtext. By the end I am nearly spitting out answers at him.

"So, Karina… tell us, do you think you can win this thing?"

Honesty. I search my brain for good answers. But I can only say one thing. "I am not helpless, Caesar." I look in the camera, directing my answer at the cameras. "I have the potential to do _anything_ I want to, if I can set my mind on it."

I leave the white leather seat without being dismissed.

That'll give them something to think about.

_**Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale, 12, District 11**_

I do not speak during the interview. I do not move. There is nothing for me to say. There is nothing for me to do. I blink, I breath.

I am nothing.

_**Em Kingston, 13, District 12**_

My coal back dress reveals my bone-thin arms covered in a thin layer of muscle from working and starving. I shuffle awkwardly onto the stage, biting my lip till it bleeds in an effort not to cry.

Caesar's smile is so warm, so welcoming, I almost have hope for a second. Almost. I have one of the lowest training scores, I'm young with not many advantages, there is no chance for me.

As he talks and I reply, I wonder what my funeral will be like…lots of red roses, I hope…maybe a bit of music, if I'm lucky. But I live in a community home with hardly any friends…nobody loves me.

The jeering of the crowds brings me back to reality. A fight to the death, televised, _enjoyed_. This is no ordinary sporting event. Life or death of people who did nothing wrong, even though ancestors they don't even know apparently did.

My brain conjures up an image of red roses and a long, black casket again.

And I know one thing for sure: I am going to die. And I am at peace.

**Notes:**

-Sorry about the crappy POVs…I'm sick D8

-Will post quicker next time – HOLY MUSHROOM THE GAMES START! :D

-Sorry for having no POV for Jaryn – I feel like having one sibling per event is better xD

-Crap, I totally messed up Quincy. I didn't know what he would do! *flail*

-I didn't write Rymet's either, just because I couldn't put him in that situation in my mind. Sorry Osprey! Hopefully Karina's longer POV made up for it :3


	22. A Brief Interlude

_**A Brief Commentary Featuring: **_Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith

Caesar's swivel chair turns as he faces the cameras, and the wild applause begin. He kisses out to the crowd, putting on his usual charming grin.

Claudius's chair moves slower, and he flashes his rainbow-colored toothy grin, winking.

Caesar puts his arms on the table, more professional now. The screen behind them flashes with headshots of the tributes. "So, Claudius, what do you have to say about this year's batch, now that we've seen the reapings, chariot rides, training, and now interviews?"

"Well Caesar, I think we should ask our special guest… Head Gamemaker _Atlas Wolfbane_!" Claudius roars, motioning to a small door at the side of the stage.

I walk out on my cue, waving at the jeering crowds, a crooked smile on my face. My third year in my position…oh, it gets better every time.

I sit down in the third swivel chair that is rolled up by an Avox next to Caesar.

"So, what do you think about this year's batch?" Caesar repeats the question.

I smile charmingly and face the cameras, eyes narrowed. "I have something very special planned for this group. You wait, Caesar. I think you'll be blown away."

"Anything you can tell the Capitol about the arena, for now?"

This time I look right into Caesar's dark pits for eyes. He can pretend all he wants, but he is as murderous as any of my Gamemakers.

I finally answer his question, slowly, _angrily_. "Well, Caesar…it's something to die for."


	23. The Beginning of the 99th Hunger Games

**Let The Games Begin**

**Kira Howren, 16, District 9**

_Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. _Those two words consume me, repeating countless times in my head. It is the only small fraction of an idea that I can focus on right now. _Relax. Relax. Relax. _My palms rain sweat like thunderclouds, my knees hit and wobble together like a village drum. If only I could open my eyes…no. Not yet. I let the darkness comfort me in all of my quick and rapid movements, thoughts, and heartbeats. Adrenaline bubbles up inside of me, and I am afraid to open my mouth out of fear that it will pour out of me. The fist in my pants pocket that holds my token, a small coin carved with encouragement from my family shakes violently.

And

I

Can't

Think.

But Cladius Templesmith saves my vacant mind with his deep rumbling. "60. 59. 58." I have to open my eyes now. Curiosity takes hold of my fear and yanks it out of me. I need to see what I have against me.

And so I do. I am shocked by the incredible simplicity of my location. In a glass tube, that I vaguely remembered stepping into in the launch room below me. It lowers down from around me, and suddenly, I feel exposed in the cool breeze of the arena. I am standing on a circular metal plate. It is fearfully small… I try not to teeter too much on my nervous feet, even more afraid of falling off and exploding than the Games themselves. And I look up.

The golden cornucopia greets my eyes with a beautiful shine…oh, if only it weren't here. I critically look at the objects in and surrounding it… axes, bows, backpacks, loaves of bread, knives, strange plastic objects that seem to be inflated…so much to choose from. Not enough time.

"30. 29. 28."

The cornucopia is in a beautiful green clearing, but thick, luminous pine trees surround us, only a few hundred yards behind our metal plates. To my left stands the District 9 boy, my partner. His stylist chopped off his ponytail, unfortunately…so that means he'll be harder to find. His green eyes find mine. Instead of menace, I see mutual respect. His gaze flits away soon after. To my right is Ajay Nevelen of District 5. He looks nearly as scared as I am. With a grim acceptance, I know that he won't last long.

"10. 9. 8." Good old Cladius brings me to the present moment. And suddenly, I am filled with nothing but emptiness, the even more grim acceptance that in a few seconds, my life will end.

And I will have no say in it.

**Ajay Nevelen, 14, District 5**

"1." Cladius says, voice even deeper and darker. The gong rings.

Running. The only thing I can do is run and run and run, as fast as I can to the pile of goods that could save my life at any moment.

But it could also end my life at any moment as well.

I never saw her face. I wish I could have known then, just for that last split second who ended me. Even if I did know what Ashtra Dechare of 2 was guilty for, I would never accuse her of something I can only pray she did out of circumstance. But there I was, never meeting the eyes of my killer, but falling, falling… my impact on the ground, the cool, moist ground is all I could remember. And the knife in the side of my neck.

**Sleighter Texlin, 18, District 6**

I don't find the sword. The sword finds me.

From my particular angle near the cornucopia, the light reflects off it for a moment, and then…it's all I can see. I shove people aside and push them to the ground until I reach it. The hilt is heavy, but balanced. It is the same exact sword I used in front of the Gamemakers.

It takes me less than 0.1298 seconds to find a target. She is fairly quick, darting underneath, over, behind people, scurrying like a mouse. And I am the cat.

She is beautiful in a haunting way, shimmering light brown hair that is long, big eyes…but this doesn't stop me.

She doesn't notice me until I am right behind her. And as she turns to face me, the recognition on her face is instant, her big brown eyes swimming with fear. She might be a quick little mouse, but she is no match for me.

The sword is in her stomach before she can even scream.

And she falls before she can even let loose a drop of blood.

And as I rip the sword out of her, guts and arteries flying around me, I remember her name. Kira Howren, District Nine.

I grin as an additional thought occurs to me. Who cares?

**Everett Heathcliffe, 15, District 4**

I am a fairly slow runner, but my quick reflexes give me a head start on my way to the enormous, golden horn. I find the giant brown fishhook immediately, as though it was carelessly tossed towards the edge. This I can work with. All the sudden, a larger, stronger boy, rushes past me, and literally tramples me.

I am on the ground, the fish hook just out of reach, and I feel weak and unable to move. All the sudden I begin to panic. I feel locked inside my body, with no way out. I am bleeding in several places, and a broken bone must lie beneath the boys bootprint. I wish it would just end.

My savior comes in the form of a shaggy red-haired boy with emerald eyes. Collita Gra, his name is. Was. Every thought I conjure up is muddled and gets tossed away soon after, out of memory. He mounts himself carefully on my chest, and I groan a little, with the weight of his boots on my stomach and chest. He eyes me carefully, and brandishes an enormous scythe that was originally hiding behind the big black spots in my vision.

End it, I want to scream, _end it_.

My mouth luckily does not speak, for if it did, I know it would say lies.

His face is emotionless and grim and he slices open my neck.

And right before the life goes out of me in one little exhale, I see the wound, enormous, red, clean, and bleeding. Torn flesh scatters it and falls off in the waterfalls of blood, and I can see the white of a bone, blue of veins, but red, so much red…

The last words I say are not lies. "Thank you," I whisper to him. I welcome the darkness with open arms.

**Azalea Mine, 16, District 10**

Alquando Trenna, the handsome boy from District 2 approaches me. Of course his face is the same as I have always known it in this terrible week-long stretch, serious and malicious.

"Run." I think they are my last words. They are directed at my brother, who doesn't move. We both know there is no point in running from Quan, not only can he stab with his spear, he can throw it with deadly accuracy.

He doesn't blink, breath, or even moves. But the pain in my chest is instant, and it only took him a tiny flick of his wrist to lodge the spear inside of me. For a moment, the pain is so intense that the tears rush out, and I make a little noise, a scream…no, it hurts too much to scream. And then the beautiful, wonderful numbness comes. I can feel the spear inside of me, hitting the front of my spine, almost coming out of my back. I can feel it bumping against the smooth surface of my stomach, but most of all, I can feel the gaping hole in my heart.

I cannot see, for the world is a sickly disorienting blur of colors, but I know he is there.

My brother. My little boy, 13 years old. He is crouched beside me, holding my numb, dead hand. He is brave. He does not cry.

He does something incredible. He makes me a promise. His whispered words tickle my ear a little. "I believe in you," I manage to say. I don't know if he heard me. And suddenly, I feel gratitude, acceptance. My brother is a good boy.

**Crimson Ashbrie, 18, District 1**

The ridiculous, bony girl from 12 falls from her short, 4-foot height. She crumples to the ground. I rip the axe from her forehead, laughing maniacally. Oh that was _too _easy! Ashtra joins me, looking at the girl grimly.

"Who else do we have?" I reach back and tuck the axe in my backpack, and take out 5 silver throwing knives. I am ready for anything.

"Quan, Sleighter, and we're taking the District 9 boy for now."

I narrow my eyes. Both of ours are still focused on the dead child. "Where's King? And didn't we get that District 4 girl? And why the _hell_ would you want the ponytail boy?"

Her tone is terse and even next to my ear. "King hasn't made an appearance. If we find him, we can kill him. Nadia ran off without a word. I say we kill her too. And _ponytail boy_ cut off his ponytail, and is pretty handy with his scythe. We'll kill him too, when the time comes, but he killed that pathetic excuse for a boy from 4."

I nod. "Sounds like a plan."

And then I feel ragged, _weak_ breaths on my neck.

**Flint Mandrake, 15, District 8**

She never looks at me, but I saw her kill that District 12 girl, and I want her to _end_. I don't care if she ever knows what she did was wrong, or why she did it, I want her _dead_. My mother would want her dead too.

But a knife is in my heart before she even turns around. I crumple to the ground. Beaten by a girl…what do you know?

She and Ashtra laugh as they finally take notice of me. "Nice try, 8, but your little girlfriend over here is _dead_ and so are you."

Crimson Ashbrie will die. She _must _die. Her final act in my lifetime is to stomp on the hilt of the knife, making me scream in agony, and I feel the tip of the blade poking through the fabric of shirt on my back, and cutting into the moist earth. She laughs at my scream and then rips it from me, my heart attached to the end.

I am no longer alive. But I still see her walk away, as though it was a typical Monday morning, with no worries in the world.

I am no longer alive. But I have a message for the other tributes who are.

_Kill her_.

**Remaining Tributes:**

Crimson Ashbrie-18-District 1-KILLS: 2

Kingsley Johannsen-18-District 1

Ashtra Dechare-17-District 2-KILLS: 1

Alquando Trenna-16-District 2-KILLS: 1

Mykal Duncan-14-District 3

Keldon Peak-14-District 3

Nadia Aaryn-15-District 4

Meira Griss-15-District 5

Jade Cox-12-Distrcit 6

Sleighter Texlin-18-District 6-KILLS: 1

Zimozielony Drewno-14-District 7

Forest Asher-14-District 7

Annabelle Crest-15-District 8

Collita Gra-16-District 9

Jaryn Mine-13-District 10

Karina Towhee-17-District 11

Quinton Cottondale-12-District 11

Rymet Flightmaple-12-District 12

**Deceased Tributes:**

Everett Heathcliffe-14-District 4 (Killed by Collita Gra)

Ajay Nevelen-14-District 5 (Killed by Ashtra Dechare)

Flint Mandrake-15-District 8 (Killed by Crimson Ashbrie)

Kira Howren-16-District 9 (Killed by Sleighter Texlin)

Azalea Mine-16-District 10 (Killed by Alquando Trenna)

Em Kingston-13-District 12 (Killed by Crimson Ashbrie)

**Notes:**

Finally updated! Sorry for the crappy chapter and little POVs, I'll try to shed some spotlight on District 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, and 12 next time. Please give me crit, and anything additional you'd like to add for your character's predicament next chapter!

Sorry those who did not originally send in their tributes as bloodbath tributes: Two-Bit's Girl14, lifelovelaughmarie, and JustAGryffinDork…I had to kill some characters! :3


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